#the way his eyes flicker down at the end... im just gonna go insane it's easier that way

[yesloulou]

IM GOING TO DIE THEN COME BACK TO HAUNT YOU . I DID NOT NEED TO SEE MAX LETTING GO OF THE SW ASSUMING D IS GOING TO HOLD ON TO IT IN HIS MOUTH THEN THINKS BETTER OF GOES BACK TO HOLD IT SO IT DOESNT DROP HOLDS SO HE CAN FINISH TAKING A BITE NOBODY IS WRITING INTIMACY LIKE THIS

#asks #* #the way his eyes flicker down at the end... im just gonna go insane it's easier that way #also keys under the rock #maxiel #max being 8 years younger than him is very important background info for this gif <3 #the way you can tell he used pressure the second time to help daniel bite (this was a deranged sentence.. but somehow the reality)

[gojology]

Strawberry Flavored Pocky.

pairing : teen! gojo x gender neutral reader warnings : the big three: unedited, most likely badly written, and some cursing. also there’s like.. graphic imagery that gojo and reader exchange to eachother. it’s just banter though! wordcount : 2273 a/n : for that one anon that wanted teen gojo. my stroke of genius always occurs when im eating strawberry flavored pocky i swear.. anyways yeah this is unfiltered writing n it’s probably like not the best tbh and maybe i didn’t nail teen gojo’s personality but u know what this was so fun to write

     The sound of the tear of the wrapper containing the Pocky you had just bought was music to your ears, crinkling with every touch. Your fingers are itching to grab for the deliciously coated sticks, but you’re stopped by someone none other than Gojo Satoru himself.       “What’d you get?” he inquired, seemingly unbothered by the face you were making, he hadn’t even greeted you with a simple, “Hello.” he sat down on the bench seat right next to you, uninvited.       In his hand were many bags of various sweet treats, you could only make out some familiar ones- ramune flavored gummies, a bag of chips, vibrantly colored candy. Your lips quirk downwards, exhaling, turning to face the setting sun.       “Just some Pocky.” you flatly respond, beginning to pick the biscuit up. Contrary to Gojo’s wide choice of snacks, you only really had one favorite- Pocky. Specifically, Strawberry flavored Pocky. The sweet, yet somewhat tart aftertaste treat dominated your mind almost day and night. It wasn’t everyday that Yaga would be lenient enough to take the four of you to the local convenience store. You were waiting for Shoko and Geto to finish shopping to finally head home for a night of yummy snacking.       Gojo sighs, lazily dropping the treats right next to his side, they sat idly, limply resting on his thigh as he crossed his right leg over his left knee. His hands warmly nestled into his snowy white hair, his elbows jutting into your personal bubble.        “Not one to chat, are you? What’s the problem? You scared?” his tone is teasing, and you jerk your head to face his. Your head is tilted, like your confused, but in reality you’re just astounded how obnoxious he was.       “Why in the world would I be scared of you? You wouldn’t lay a finger on me. Yaga-Senpai would rip your limbs off one by one and fling you into the horizon! And he’s not even that far away, I could report you to him if you even get on my nerves in the slightest.” you shot back, huffing and taking your first bite on the biscuit. You instantly melt.       He flashes you a toothy smile, and you stiffen, did he ever take anything seriously? “Oh my, so riled up. Only scaredy-cats would talk about how not scared they were. Look, you’re even shaking-” he gestures to your just slightly shaking, tightened grip on your Pocky. “-I win, Y/N! Boo hoo, case closed, gimme your Pocky~”        “No, fuck you and your fat ass trying to take my Pocky, I’m not shaking from fear anyways.” you sternly retort, warmth rushing to your cheeks for whatever reason. “I’m shaking because I’m resisting the urge to duct tape your mouth shut and gouge your eyeballs out.”       He chuckles warmly as if your gruesome detailing was humorous, he probably didn’t know you meant it. He too, ripped open one of his snacks. “Calm down, Y/N. I was joking, I could buy Pocky’s whole stock and probably also buy my position up as CEO if I wanted to. I wouldn’t leech off of you, sugar.” readjusting his crooked, circular shades, he looked down at your now slack grip on the wrapper.      Unanswering, you’re grumbling instead. Under your breath, you’re curious as to how Gojo hasn’t realized how obnoxious he was, and how much longer could he survive without his head exploding from how big it was from his inflated ego?      Gojo grinned. He was all too aware of those things, but who really cared?      “Not unless you let your guard down!-” unable to finish the rest of his sentence, he yanked up the wrapper from your hands, using the extent of his long arm to dangle it high above your head. Your reflexes are far too slow to react, causing you to glare at him in a mixture of shock, hatred, and disbelief.      “Give-” you jump, arm reaching towards your snack, but he backs off, snickering and still dangling it above your head. “It-” now you’ve leapt up on the bench, grabbing at the wrapper to no avail. “Back!-” whimpering and flailing your arms out, every time you came close to retrieving your rightfully owned pack of Pocky, he’d simply throw it to his other hand so carelessly it pissed you off. All the while giggling, juggling it like a clown.      A breath of laughter escapes his lips as he looks at you, prancing around like a circus act on the bench, yelling curses and many death-wishes to his clan. Your eyebrows are knitted together, and he can’t just help but realize how adorable you were when concentrated in getting something- so stubborn.    “Okay, okay!” and as if Gojo had flipped a switch, you simmer down, looking at him with an impatient side-eye. “You want it, doggie?”     “Refer to me as doggie, and I’ll send a pack of strays to ravage you.”       Gojo exhaled out of his nose. “You’re a funny one, doggie.” did he just dismiss the conversation you two were having literally 2 seconds prior? “I’ll ask this again, do you want to get your treats back?” his eyes are glinting with amusement and child-like glee. You were almost sure that he had started calling your beloved Pocky as treats because of just how well it suited the nickname Doggie. It looked like you would be getting no where unless you paid no mind to him calling you such a.. Derogatory name.       Grumbling and studying the concrete you were currently trampling on, you exasperatedly sigh.       “Yes. I do want my Pocky back.” you grunt, averting your gaze to anywhere but Gojo’s shoes.       He perks up in approval, drawing out a long, “Hmmm?” as if he hadn’t expected you to give up so easily. “What are the magic words, Y/N?”       This was so humiliating.       “Please?” you politely say through gritted teeth. If it weren’t for the general public bustling about, you would’ve lunged for his unruly hair and tear it out of his scalp.       “Hah! You think I’m gonna do that sorta bullshit?” he crosses his arms, Pocky tucked safely under his arm. You wince, thinking about how the biscuits may potentially be snapped in half. Did you really want your snack still? It probably smelled like Gojo’s armpit sweat, death, and all the bad things in the world combined. “You’re gonna have to earn it, Y/N, in a game.”       Now convinced that Gojo was the manifestation of all the bad karma that you had avoided, you stare at him with wide eyes and fear, the irritation long gone. Games, no, scratch that, literally anything with Gojo only resulted in a small, or maybe large piece of your sanity torn away from you, lost to the infinite dark abyss. Maybe that’s why Geto seemed to slowly go insane everyday.       “On second thought, I’ll just go-”      He cuts you off, alarm now displayed on full view, his face contorting back to neutral. “Wait, no! It won’t be hard. Pinkie promise.” extending a pinkie towards you, you gently slap it away. The mood change was so instant, you were still shocked, that, and he was almost a legal adult and still believed in pinkie promises.      Still hesitant, you quirk an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’d rather spend another two dollars than play whatever game your planning, unless you tell me about it.”      “That’s a given, besides, it won’t take too long, Y/N. I think you’ll like it.” he replies cheerfully, leaning and whisper-yelling into your ear, fruitfully jolting you up. Seriously, did he have any idea what personal space was?      After just a few seconds of thinking, you roll your eyes in defeat. “Okay, what’s this game?”      His incredibly long fingers inserted themselves inside the crinkling wrapper, pulling out a slender stick. You’re almost sure your salivating, and subconsciously swallow the lump at the back of your throat. “Okay, rules of this game are... Hm, we both place our mouths at both ends of the stick. You get the pretzel part because that part sucks.” mischief flickers in his eyes briefly. “Whoever can get down the Pocky longest without being afraid of kissing and pulling back, loses and doesn’t get the Pocky. Whoever stays in their place wins. I’ll throw in some money, deal or no deal?”       “This doesn’t sound.. Fun.” you were still skeptical, but curiosity was blossoming rapidly inside of you. Could you really resist such an intriguing request? The guy was rich, and he did say he’d throw in some money. Gojo probably hated the thought of you, too. You could probably get up and close, get him to cower away from the thought of locking lips with you, and you’d be on your merry way.       “Um, actually, never mind. Let’s do this.” you chirp, the weariness had depleted completely. Besides, Gojo would pester you into doing it anyways, this would effectively save time. The expression on his face was indecipherable, silently wishing to yourself to see his eyes. You wonder if they’re wide open, in shock of your acceptance.       He gently placed the biscuit between your lips, his thumb brushing against it. Your breath hitches, now he’s up close. The shades adorning his handsome features, concealing those vivid blue eyes of his made your heart pace quicken in just seconds, maybe it was because he could see you- and you couldn’t. Your gaze shifts to the tufts of white hair hanging above his forehead. His bangs look lusciously soft, so soft you wonder what it’d be like to ruffle his unruly hair, what did it smell like? What conditioner did he use?     Your cheeks darken, but you hope he doesn’t notice it. This was what people thought of when they saw pretty people up close, it wasn’t like you had a thing for him, he was just attractive, that’s all.      “You look real stupid holding that stick between your teeth and looking at me.” he comments, charmingly smirking as you give him another death glare, unable to speak in fear of dropping the Pocky stick. You could count each individual hair strand he had on top of his head with the amount of time he was taking.      Chomp.     You take the first bite, and you can’t help but realize how much your heart is fluttering about in your chest. Eyelashes fluttering, nerves getting jittery, the exchange was strangely intimate. No kidding, of course it was- if the two of you were adamant and continued to chomp on the stick, it would only end in a kiss. There was no way around it.      He takes a bite too, his lips look curved in a dopey smile, but there’s not a single word traded between the two of you, just tiny, slight nibbles. It would be eons until someone finished, and you were growing impatient by the minute. Quicken the pace. Quicken the fucking pace.     So you did the unthinkable, you quickened the pace.     Taking a large bite, he pauses for a minute- as if to think, before taking an even larger bite. Now, 2/3′s of the original stick is gone. One more large bite, and a kiss would follow suit. Now, you’re sweating bullets, eyes bouncing from him, back down to the microscopic sized Pocky. His lips are so, so close. Soft, plush pink, so glossy you’re inclined to ask what brand of lip gloss he uses. You can hear his breathing grow heavier, why wasn’t he giving up?      The two of you don’t take a single bite, plainly avoiding the objective, the world around you had evaporated into thin air. It’s you, and Gojo Satoru.      You nibbled a little bit more, and then you make up your mind. You’re going to kiss-       Growing chatter grew closer to closer, and you realize Shoko’s monotone and Geto’s lively voice, alongside a very disgruntled Yaga.       “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. I actually liked the movie- Uh...?” the steady rhythm stopped against the concrete. Immediately, you straighten and clear your throat, spitting out the Pocky stick into the nearby grass. Gojo follows suit, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and twirling around. “Oh hey, Geto!-”       “Are we interrupting something? Something.. Important?” Shoko quizzes, struggling to stifle her giggling. A sheepish smile was displayed widely on your face for the world to see, hands behind your back like you were hiding something. Gojo, on the other hand, is facing the other direction, whistling and staring at the now setting sky.       You stutter, cheeks growing even darker. Yaga looks as disgruntled as ever, facepalming and murmuring to himself. Geto looks ecstatic.        “MY MAN!” he beams. “WERE YOU GOING TO-”       “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Shoko shushes him in response, turning her head back to the two of you. You looked like you had just seen a ghost. “We thought you hated Gojo, we’re just...” her head is cocked slightly, an understanding expression on her features. “Just surprised, is all.”       Spluttering, you try to explain yourself- but no sound comes out. Your mouth is opening and closing, struggling to find the words.       “I do hate him... I just... He.. Pocky.. He uh...”       “Sheeeeeeeesh! Poor Y/N over here is going through some shock right now!” Gojo muses aloud, he places an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in under his arm. There’s a small, coy grin on his lips. As if he didn’t try kissing you 1 minute ago. “Just ignore them, anyways, what are we having for dinner tonight? I heard there’s a really good KBBQ place down the street that just opened..”      As much as you hate Gojo, his ability to escape anything did come in handy.    Well, maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you were leading on.     You’d go as far as to say.. Maybe you enjoyed some parts of him.      

#gojo satoru #jjk #jjk fic #teen gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #sss trio #gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #jjk gojo satoru #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #gojou satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #anime fic #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #gojo satoru scenario #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[silversatoru]

hi!! me again, saw that you want some bnha requests and hoo boy do i fuckin got one for ya

im a hardcore member of the fuck bakugo 🖕🏼 squad but i also wanna fuck bakugo ya know?

therefore i would like to request a smut fic where bakugo is so painfully angry at the fact that he has a crush on the reader that he ends up getting caught stealing their panties and chaos ensues 😌

anyway love you bye ❤️

compulsion

touch-starved bakugou katsuki x f!reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, oral sex (male receiving), mild obsession, dom?reader, characters aged up

w/c: 1.9k

katsuki bakugo hates a lot things.

he hates hero training, he hates his annoying classmates, and he hates the fact that it rained today. he hates living in the UA dorms and he fucking hates the overly salted bowl of ramen he was forcing down his throat right now.

bakugo katsuki hates almost everything, but he doesn’t hate you — and he hates that doesn’t.

having a distaste for the world made things easier, because if he always assumed the worse than he’d never be disappointed. he’d gotten pretty far with that logic — that was up until you waltzed into his life and fucked it all up, sending his logic hurling out the window.

when he looked at you he didn’t feel the same hate that he felt for the world around him — in fact when he looked at you he felt a disgusting urge of optimism. he liked the way your hair fell around your shoulders, the way your lips curled when you smiled, and the way your skirt rode up your thighs. he didn’t hate anything about you and that’s what he hated most.

see ya later, katsuki! you’d called to him after hero training today, your round glossy lips pronouncing his name in a way that made his heart flicker and his blood boil over. why did everything about you have to be so fucking perfect? he couldn’t find a single flaw on your annoyingly pristine body no matter how hard he searched for one.

your voice consumed his mind — everything you said to him today replaying on repeat at the center stage of his brain:

come eat lunch with us, katsuki!

hey katsuki, did you finish the math homework? number seven makes like- no fucking sense.

have you seen those chips i like, katsuki? i swear if denki ate them all again i’m gonna kill him

your voice was precious, a terribly sensual melody in his sullen ears. and the way you clung to the ends of your words for just a little too long was repulsively adorable too.

katsuki needed something, anything, to get you off his mind. sitting here and daydreaming about you was making him irate with himself — forcing intrusively irrational thoughts through his thick head. something, anything, he needed to stop thinking about you.

he tossed what was left of his shitty ramen into the trash can and exited the kitchen. the common area was filled with students right now, you included, and it was much too crowded and annoying for his liking. you were sitting with hanta, laughing at some shitty fucking joke he was spouting off.

not that he enjoyed watching that lanky scotch-tape dispenser flirt with you — but it was keeping you busy. your dorm room would be empty right now, wouldn’t it?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

katsuki’s not sure how he ended up here, seething with anger and digging fervently through your drawer of panties. surely you wouldn’t mind if he took just one pair, right? you have to understand that he wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t absolutely need them. he wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t make him so fucking angry — this is your fault, not his. 

he lifted the lacy material closer to his face for further inspection, unable to prevent his mind from wandering to how it would look wrapped around your body. fuck, they even smelled good — not that he was smelling them intentionally or anything, don't get the wrong idea. he just so happened to get close enough that the soft aroma of cherry blossom fabric softener wafted into his nostrils.

simmering with anger and foggy with unwanted lust, katsuki pocketed the panties for later and turned back towards the door — the same door that you were now standing in front of with immense confusion in your eyes. fuck. 

“uh... hey katsuki, whatcha doin?” you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, cocking your head to the side. 

“i- uh- it’s fucking none of your business,” he snarled at you, face flushing as he tried to figure out how long you’ve been standing there and how much you saw.

“you’re in my room dude, it’s totally my business,” you raised an eyebrow at him, “and that pair of panties you took is one of my favorites, maybe you could pocket one of the uglier pairs?”

“god, fucking dumbass, this is your fault! i wouldn’t be here right now if you weren’t so fucking infuriating,” his face was so angry and flushed you could have sworn there was steam sizzling off his skin.

“me? it’s my fault you’re standing in my room with a pair of my underwear in your pocket and an obvious boner in your pants?”

katsuki grimaced, faltering for just a second as he awkwardly shifted his sweatshirt and pulled it down to cover his swollen erection, “yeah shithead, that’s what i just said. weren’t you fucking listening?”

“this is horribly desperate, katsuki, you could have just asked. i’m more than willing to help you out with this,” you stepped forward and began to shorten the distance between the two of you.

“willing to help me? are you insane? i don’t need your fucking help!” he tried to retaliate, but you were already inches from him, reaching down and dragging a hard palm over the lump in his jeans.

“quit screaming like a lunatic and let me help you, i know this is what you think about,” you pressed harder and gave him an icy stare, the boy using everything in his power not to crumble under your touch.

he’d never been touched like this by anyone, and he was so caught off guard by your sudden movements that he simply stared back at you, frozen in place. no arguments, no insults, no deflective blaming — his brain could barely compute his own name now that your hand was prodding at his bulge.

“that’s what i thought,” you cracked a small smile, “poor katsuki, always pushing everyone away and never getting any action. come sit down”.

katsuki failed to wrap his brain around the current events, wondering how his failed attempt at stealing a pair of panties had led to him sitting on the edge of your bed while you stripped him of his trousers. you were sinking to your knees now, head perfectly level with his cock that was standing flush against his abdomen.

he almost flinched when you reached out and brushed your delicate fingers over the red, swollen head of his dick. his cheeks were flushed with a deep red, and he wanted nothing more than to yell you, to tell you how much of a freak you were. but he didn’t, because as much as he hated to admit it, your touch was the best thing he’d ever felt.

your fingers were wrapped around his shaft now, pumping slow strokes as you warmed him up. he hissed and squirmed under your brand new touch — eyes squeezing shut and hands grabbing fistfuls of your comforter. katsuki had touched himself plenty of times, most of them while thinking of you, but your hand felt so much better than his ever did.

“you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” you pouted up at him, your fingers squeezing a little tighter and pumping a little faster, “poor baby”.

“i- fuck- ah,” he choked out a pitiful cluster of sounds that didn’t actually form any words but still gave you the answer to your question.

you were terribly amused, the typically angry boy was a twitching mess under your touch and you’d barely even started yet. you could only imagine how quickly he’d melt when your lips were around his cock — you were dying to find out.

you leaned forward and began slowly flicking your tongue over the puffy tip, still pumping the shaft with one of your hands. katsuki let out strings of sounds that could only be described as mewls and whimpers, his thighs shaking and his knuckles turning white. poor poor baby, you continued to think, i’m gonna make you feel better than you ever have before.

your head dipped low, the first few inches of his cock sliding across your tongue and into the back of your mouth. the blonde boy whined and bucked his hips, his eyes shooting open at the sudden burst of hot, wet pleasure.

“hng- fuck- fucking sh-shit,” his curses came out as pitiful gasps for air as he stared down at you with wide eyes.

you gradually took more and more of his length into the depths of your throat — his extensive length, by the way. for someone so blessed with such a big, pretty cock, you couldn’t believe he didn’t put it to use more often.

katsuki was cussing you out like it was his job, but each word was accompanied by a gasp or a humiliating whimper. he was so fucking embarrassed, but he felt much too good to care right now. your wet, sticky mouth was enveloping his cock in the most perfect way, jolts of euphoria spiking through his veins and fogging his head.

there was a pressure quickly building in his stomach, a tight wam feeling that signified he was going to come all too soon. but of course you expected this — honestly he’d lasted a few minutes longer than you thought he would.

when his orgasm finally racked through him, his entire body twitched and convulsed, his hips bucking wildly as strings of white liquid sprung from his cock and lined the walls of your tight throat. you milked every drop of cum from him, swallowing it down and then pulling your head back. as much as you wanted to push him and overstimulate him you decided to play nice for his first time.

“so good, katsuki. did you like that?”

his shoulders caved in and his head hung low as he finally came down from his high — the realization of all of the transpiring events finally catching up to him. he mumbled the quietest: yeah, it felt fucking good in response to your question, but refused to meet your eyes.

“we could do this more often, what you think?” you reached up and placed your hand under his chin, coaxing him to look at you.

“fuck- fine, yeah whatever, but don’t fucking tell anyone about this,” he growled, his angry eyes and twisted eyebrows finally meeting yours.

“of course,” you smiled, standing and tossing him his pants to put back on, “i just came here to grab a sweatshirt, so i better go before anyone comes looking for me. i’ll come find you later though, promise”.

and with that you were walking through the door, wiping your sticky lips on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and heading for the elevators. katsuki sat on the edge of your bed for a few minutes longer, mind blown by the curves of your mouth and the skill of your tongue.

katsuki didn’t hate you before, and he really doesn’t hate you now, but he’s coming to terms with it this time. letting his walls down for you doesn’t sound all that bad if it means you’ll keep making him feel like this.

#bnha bakugou #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha imagines #boku no hero smut #my hero academi smut #boku no hero x reader #my hero academia x reader

[azucanela]

Could you do another Sokka with the fire nation reader and maybe something domestic? Something after the war potentially? Please and thank you!!!

SERENE SHORES | SOKKA X READER

SUMMARY: after years of chaos, Y/N can’t help but feel weird when everything is peaceful. but hey, weird can be nice. especially when weird is with sokka.

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: kissing, soft, pretty basic.

A/N: this is gonna be the least heartbreaking thing i’ll ever write super domestic 10/10 soft. also it feels wrong to not write something thats like 10k words of pining askhdkjsah also this is weirdest title ever im sorry

The sun poured into the room, indicating that Sokka had in fact, awoken, and opened the curtains, much to Y/N’s dismay. They were on vacation and yet he still insisted on waking up at the most ungodly of hours to work. Y/N had no doubt that he’d heard the whispers in the Southern Water Tribe, he’d done so much for the small nation that Y/N wasn’t shocked when rumors of Sokka potentially becoming the next chief came about. He was still young, but that didn’t stop people from talking, and maybe thats why he was putting so much pressure on himself.

But it was vacation, on Ember Island, alongside the rest of their friends. They’d agreed to head out later in the day together, to the beach to catch up with one another. Regardless, Y/N couldn’t help but groan, running a hand through her hair when she realized Sokka had gotten up early for no reason. Y/N had searched him prior to their departure to the island, ensuring he had no work at all, and yet here they were.

Sitting up in the bed, she stretched out her arms, allowing the sun to hit her face. Y/N squinted at the sudden brightness as she moved to stand, a wave of dizziness washed over her momentarily, causing her legs to wobble as she took her first few steps of the day. Y/N quickly recovered as she made her way outside of the room, bringing a hand to her forehead as she sighed. The Ember Island rooms were like small homes at this point, so Y/N wasn’t shocked to find Sokka in the kitchen, cutting up some fruits into the bowl. 

He looks up at her, a smile on his face as he put the knife down and tries his best to lean against the counter alluringly, only for his elbow to miss the edge of the counter. Sokka stumbles slightly, causing Y/N to laugh as she greets him, “hi there.”

“Hey, beautiful.” Sokka greets, recovering from his fall as he jogs over to press a kiss to her cheek, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her closer.

Y/N hums in response, wrapping her arms around his torso, “why are you out of bed?” She presses a kiss to his jaw before resting her head on his chest.

“I was making breakfast, per usual.” Comes his reply. Y/N had found that Sokka was actually a great roommate, he tended to wake up early to handle his duties in the Southern Water Tribe. Which meant he’d cook breakfast for the two of them, and get his fair share of cleaning done. 

Y/N is pulling herself away from him to grab his hand and pull him towards the bedroom, “let’s go back to bed.” It was vacation, and they could probably order some sort of room service seeing as Ember Island was practically a resort.

“We have to meet the others later.” Sokka reasoned, resisting her aggressive yanks at his arm, feet remaining firmly planted on the floor.

Y/N playfully glares at him, “yeah, later. Not now, we have time. I don’t know why you woke up so early.” She’s scolding him, mostly because he’s been having trouble sleeping lately, and refuses to drink the tea she offered him. Iroh had kindly taught her how to make a ‘proper’ cup of tea, as he’d put it. 

“It’s midday.” He points out, causing Y/N’s eyes to widen a fraction, her eyes flickering over to the windows momentarily as she tries to understand how she managed to sleep well into the middle of the day.

Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, brows furrowing in confusion as she looks to Sokka, “are you serious?”

Sokka blinks once before throwing his head back in laughter, “yes!” 

With a rather aggressive tug at Sokka’s arm, Y/N pulled him closer bringing her free hand to his cheek as she pulled him in for a kiss. Sokka melted into it, bringing both his arms to hand loosely around her waist

It was peaceful. Watching him look so happy, the way the sunlight gleamed on his face as Y/N practically tackled him onto the bed, the bright smile on his face lit up the room more than the sun ever could. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen these things and she certainly hoped it wouldn’t be the last. And given how few threats of war and death and chaos there had been lately, Y/N had a feeling that she wouldn’t have to worry about losing Sokka to some insane enemy anytime soon. 

Y/N hated how weird it felt. Being able to relax for once because there’s no threat of impending doom, no need to be alert despite the habit she’d developed to always have a hand ready to grab the knife at her side. Y/N hated that she couldn’t allow herself a moment of peace even though there was nothing to worry about. 

Even when the war had ended, Y/N had to be on her toes for all the riots that started across the world. She and the rest of Team Avatar weren’t necessarily prepared for all the diplomatic work that had to be done to repair all the damage that had been done to the world during the 100 years of war. Aang had a lot of other issues to handle as the Avatar, Katara and Sokka had to work on rebuilding the Southern Water Tribe, Toph had to handle her parents though she had favored spreading the wonders of metalbending instead. Zuko was rebuilding the Fire Nation was simultaneously tearing down the century’s worth of brainwashing. And as for Y/N, she was just trying to figure out where she fit in to all this.

For the first time in a long time, nothing was going on. Y/N didn’t need to bring her weapons, and she didn’t need to look over her shoulder ever moment for potential enemies. And it felt weird.

They’d returned to Ember Island for a vacation, a reward to themselves for everything they’d done. And it had been a while since they’d been able to actually catch up, Y/N wouldn’t deny it, though they saw each other fairly frequently when it seemed the world was about to end, time to talk was rare. And now that they could talk, she didn’t know what to say.

Yeah, it felt weird.

Sokka’s arm had wrapped around her waist, and Y/N found herself watching as he threw his head back in laughter at something Toph had said. The girl in question seemed pretty pleased with herself, Zuko on the other hand was looking rather embarrassed. Not that Y/N was really paying attention to the conversation. They had gotten to the beach not too long ago, and Y/N had a feeling they would stay awhile, but she was a little busy getting lost in her own thoughts. 

Was it wrong of her to wonder what happened next now that they had entered what would —hopefully— be an era of peace? The only person who could probably remember such a time was Aang, seeing as he was born before the war started, officially started that is. 

Pushing away those thoughts, Y/N returned her attention to the conversation at hand, “you know what, the rest of you never grew up with Sokka’s whining in the mornings— Y/N knows what I mean, right?”

Y/N found herself straightening beside Sokka, “actually, Sokka cooks me breakfast in the mornings, and he’s surprisingly neat, so I have no complaints.” She lets out a small laugh, and Y/N can feel Sokka’s eyes on her figure as everyone else laughs once more.

“Thank you Y/N, see I can be a fantastic roommate.” Sokka asserted, throwing a playful glare to Katara as he squeezed Y/N’s side gently. She and Sokka had gotten together shortly after the war, and they’d been living together for a while. Seeing as they travelled together for over a year, there wasn’t really much of an adjustment period if Y/N was honest, and Sokka was a model roommate. 

Sokka sits up suddenly, causing Y/N to raise a brow at him as she shifts in her seat, only for him to extend a hand to her, “I’m going for a walk, wanna come?”

She takes his hand, offering him a smile as she sits up as well, “yes.” 

From the corner of her eye, Y/N can see Aang move to speak, only for Toph to swat at his chest when he tries to stand, and Katara to glare harshly. Zuko simply watches the interaction in confusion, brow furrowing as Katara beams up at the couple, “have fun!”

Sokka fought the urge to roll his eyes as he took Y/N by the hand and began to drag her away from the campsite. He’d noticed her behavior, something was bothering her. Of course, Katara was reading into things again, she and Gran Gran had grown a little obsessed in regards to his relationship with Y/N. Mostly because Gran Gran insisted that she had to live to see the wedding.

Oh god, Katara must’ve thought he intended to propose—

Y/N had gathered that much as well, it wasn’t something the two had discussed yet, mostly because they’d never had time. When they officially got together, everything was so chaotic they just never had the time, and now that they had the time, well neither of them had tried to broach the topic. Katara on the other hand seemed to continue her meddlesome ways, trying to put the idea into Y/N’s head time and time again during their conversations.

Y/N did not approve.

The pair walked silently across the coast line, water washing up against their bare feet as Sokka comically swung their hands back and forth, earning a small laugh from Y/N. She came to the realization that as badly as she wanted to avoid this conversation, it was necessary. Looking up at him, her brows furrowed as she spoke, “don’t let Katara... pressure you into anything, okay?”

Sokka frowned, pausing as he walked, “don’t tell me she’s been talking to you about-”

“Marriage.” They both muttered, simultaneously. The pair burst into laughter, and Sokka simply shook his head. Katara had obviously been discussing the subject with the both of them.

Sokka simply facepalms, and Y/N finds herself smiling as she watches him, “I’m sorry that she’s been bothering you about that, even though I told her not to.” He turns back to look at the camp, that’s still visible in the distance, Katara is giving him a thumbs up alongside Toph, though the young girl is facing the wrong direction. A show of support as he attempts to ‘propose’ to Y/N, though he didn’t intend to, not today at least. 

Y/N offers him a nervous smile, pulling his attention away from their friends as they continued to walk, “it’s fine.” Another silence consumes them, and Y/N finds herself biting her lip as her gaze returns to Sokka, “have you thought about it though?” 

“Marriage?” Sokka asks, looking to her with wide eyes, “of course, I have. But we’re still young...” He trails off, tilting his head at Y/N as he mumbles, “have you?”

She shrugs, looking to the horizon, where the sun is slowly disappearing and the night sky begins to reveal itself, “honestly? Not really, no.” Y/N can practically feel Sokka deflate beside her, and quickly continues, “not because I don’t want to marry you. I just... I don’t know I never had...”

“Time. To think about it?” Sokka offered when she trailed off. He understood, in a way. They weren’t able to think much of the future while on the run, mostly because the future was a luxury that they were unsure they’d ever get. 

Y/N simply looks to him, nodding slowly she can feel her cheeks warm as she exhales deeply. “I want to though.” Her voice is quiet, probably because its the first time she admitting it to herself, that she does want to marry Sokka. There was always a small part of her that wondered what that would be like, and maybe moving in with him solidified the idea in her mind. Y/N didn’t know.

Maybe it was cliché but Sokka had known since they’d met. 

“I’ve thought about it for a while.” He mumbles, fidgeting with her hand. 

A smile graces Y/N’s face as she raises a brow, “what have you thought about?” She can’t help but feel curious, she’s well aware of how meticulously he plans things, and if he’s thought about their potential wedding it means he not only sees her in his future, but he also likely spent a lot of time considering minor details about the wedding. 

Sokka’s eyes are glued to her hands as he responds, “you would look really pretty in a wedding dress.” If Sokka was honest, she looked pretty in everything, but the idea of marrying her? It had crossed his mind in the past, several times.

She’s never seen him this shy and subdued before, and Y/N can’t help but feel shocked at how soft his voice sounds when he speaks. So, she finds herself considering what this imaginary wedding would be like. Yet all she manages to say is, “I was thinking about how I would never get married on a beach.” 

A small laugh escapes Sokka, “you hate sand.” They’d learnt that the hard way the last time they were at Ember Island, just before the end of the war. Sokka had spent about an hour convincing Y/N to come down to the beach despite her hatred of sand. She ended up agreeing— more accurately being forced to head down to the beach seeing as Sokka practically threw her over his shoulder and carried her there. Y/N vividly recalled the violent words she’d yelled at him when he threw her into the ice cold water.

Y/N is laughing alongside him, nodding,  “I do.”

She’d be saying those words again, not too far in the future. And maybe this possibility is why Y/N decides that she likes this whole peace thing, standing on the serene shores of Ember Island. Life is good when you aren’t worried about impending doom all the time, and its even better with Sokka in it. Y/N wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with him.

“Let’s prank Katara into thinking you proposed.” She suggested, grinning at Sokka. If the girl was so insistent on meddling with their relationship, then why not get a little revenge?

Sokka seemed to like this idea, as his eyes iit up at her words, “I love you, so much.” He exclaimed, grabbing Y/N’s face with both hands and pulling her into a kiss. 

Y/N finds herself smiling into the kiss, pulling away to say, “I know.”

“You’re supposed to say it back.” Sokka is pouting now, trapping her in his arms as he awaits the response he wants. 

Y/N hummed in reply, a pensive look on her face as she pretended to consider his words, “I guess I love you too.”

“You guess?!”

Hopefully their honeymoon would be far less chaotic, and further away from sand. 

A/N: lol writing something happy when you are sad is not it so im sorry that this is bad but i tried 🥺

​

#sokka x reader #sokka atla x reader #atla sokka x reader #atla x reader #atla #avatar the last airbender #lok #lok x reader #legend of korra

[timothy-chamlet]

the afterparty - t.c. fanfic

pair: timmy x female reader

warnings: unprotected sex, general smut

word count: 2.6k (2640)

a//n: ok er ive never written for timmy before so im nervous snsvsj but if you read it tell me what u think !! <3

°•○●○•°

people often thought the two of you were dating. paparazzi tended to make it look that way through press. despite all the candid photos of you and timothée plastered in magazine spreads and floating around on blogs, he would tell people you weren't together. interviewers would ask, and time again he would put an end to the rumor by saying you weren't dating, you were just friends. 

to be fair, you honestly couldn't even be mad at him. it was a good marketing tactic, at least. if all the girls knew he was single they'd still be invested in the persona of a young, attractive starlet that - despite his more than desirable qualities - is still single. genius. meanwhile you were being his best friend and his trophy for award shows. 

it was growing on you though. you enjoyed walking red carpet events and going to extravagant parties and meeting big names in the industry. it was really a win-win for both of you. 

another one of those win-win situations was tonight. the past three days had been crazy. hair appointments, nail appointments, dress fittings, photoshoots, brunches, and dinners. running each new day on an hour of sleep - maybe two if you were lucky. fueled by energy drinks and the promise of rest after the event. showing up to an awards ceremony on nothing more than a 20 minute nap and a double shot espresso. being timothée's showpiece was exhausting. but it was good for you. 

you had just finished your last consultation for dress fittings and were on your way to your styling appointment. the dress would arrive shortly after you so everything was ready to go. things were set for timothée to meet you there in an hour or so, after his own styling. 

currently you're getting your makeup done. a swarm of professionals all around you, handing products, giving directions, telling you how gorgeous you look, at least three hands on you at all times. after almost an hour all the disembodied hands move from your face to reveal the *almost* finished product. you still need your hair done, but your face was flawless. your skin was insanely smooth; not a pore in sight, your lids were a bronze shade, and your lips were a perfect nude. 

a hair stylist soon steps into view, also admiring your makeup before diving into your hair. it was simple. a slicked back ponytail is all, careful not to draw away from your face and your dress. 

the strong aroma of hairspray clouds you as you maneuver to step into your dress. stripped of your previous clothes, you step into your dress and a couple people help you pull it up. the woman attending to the supper in the back steps away for a moment, seeming to answer a question. 

"what's his name?" she asks into her ear piece. "uh yes. she's in here with me. send him in."  

she returns behind you and does up the zipper to your dress. to your surprise, you see timothée waltz in the room. dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a light lavender button up underneath. "y/n," he exhales, walking towards you. "you look breathtaking, ma chérie." 

"you don't look too bad yourself, timmy," you say, stepping down from your pedestal to be almost eye level with him.

"is she done here?" he asks everyone around without taking his eyes off you. 

one of the women there swoops in with a pair of shoes and says, "slip in to these and you're ready to go, darling." 

you step into your shoes and link arms with timothée. "carriage awaits," he says as the two of you get escorted to the limo. 

once inside you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. "you okay?" he asks from beside you. 

"yeah, just.. tired." 

he chuckles and drops his head. "absolutely exhausted." you two had similarly scheduled days so he knows exactly how you feel. "don't worry, mon amour, i'll have you home in about 8 hours." 

"i thought the awards show was only 4-" 

"there's always the afterparty.." 

you audibly groan and drop your head as timothée places a reassuring hand on your knee. 

"we're here," he says with fake enthusiasm as the limo pulls up to the event. the past 45 minutes felt like hours as your head began to pound from the lack of sleep. yet, lucky you, 45 minutes in l.a. traffic was a miracle. 

the two of you step out into the scene. flashing lights from camera flickers, the general buzz of the crowd, people you knew trying to get your attention, people timothée knew trying to get his attention. being the kind person he is, he doesn't shy away from fans calling his name. he walks over to give high fives, say hi, sign things, and really interact with the people that are so invested in his career. you look at him with a fond smile on your face as he greets  people.  

"timothéeeee," you both hear and turn around to match the loud booming voice to a face. 

"armieee!!" he yells in response, hurrying over to hug his co-star. 

you stand idly by as the two hug and catch up. fiddling with your ponytail and the skirt of your dress. until that same voice catches your attention. 

"bring it in hot stuff!" 

"hey, armie! how've you been, handsome?" you two had only met a handful of times, but it's like your souls clicked instantly. he had kept in touch since the first time you met and you guys had been pretty close ever since. 

"oh i’m doing great. really. just excited for this evening. can't wait to see how many awards lil' tim brings in," armie ends with a light laugh before timothée chimes in. 

"oh god no-" 

a cheery voice interrupts the conversation. 

"helloooo," armie's wife says in a sing-song voice and joins his side. "nice to see you again, y/n. and congrats timmy on your nominations." 

you and timothée nod in response and utter small, nervous 'thank you's' before armie excuses the two of them, promising to catch up later. 

"well, well, well- this is it, timmy." you say from your seat next to him. the host reads the nominees for best breakthrough of the year, and timothée's name is mixed in with so many other talented actors. he nervously puts his hand over yours. "you are absolutely amazing. everyone knows that. you're gonna get it." he looks at you and you pass him a reassuring smile. 

"and the award for best breakthrough goes to… timothée chalamet!" 

his head shoots up in shock. cameras pan around him and his baffled expression appears on huge screens behind the stage. he slowly stands from his seat and makes his way to the stage. making a beautiful speech, thanking almost everyone he's ever known. giving gratitude to everyone he's ever worked with, his parents, and his best friends. he comes off the stage and returns to his seat beside you. a year runs down his cheek, and you move to wipe it away, but he grabs your hand away from his cheek only to press his lips to your knuckles. "thank you for always believing in me." 

"you're an amazing actor and an even better friend. 

the night was nearing an end. people were saying their goodbyes and their 'see-you-soon's and going their separate ways. you and timothée walk out of the event, arms linked, with his hands tightly gripping his award. the smile never leaves his face. "i can't fucking believe that, y/n."

"you did it, timmy! all you and your hard work. lemme pick a nice spot on your shelf for it yeah?" 

"i was thinking about sitting it on my dresser right above the drawer full of your shit you keep leaving at my house," he says with a barely visible smirk. 

"oh, well if it's such a problem," you begin "i guess I'll just have to come get my 'shit' then?" you finish sarcastically. 

"oh! how dare you?" he begins to shout, going on a tirade similar to that of hamlet; overly dramatic and mostly nonsensical. "leave them be! small, small remnants; reminders of thee." he trails off softly, dropping his head to your shoulder and bringing his other hand up to trail his fingertips down the side of your face. 

you can't help but chuckle at this. "bravo timothée! amazing performance." 

he straightens up before taking a bow and returning to his previous position on your shoulder. "do you wanna skip the afterparty?" 

"and do what, tim? i thought you were gonna catch up with armie?" 

"i dunno- go to my place?" 

you nod your head, and timothée let's the driver know to just go to his house. 

you get out of the car in front of his apartment, quickly thank the driver, and dash inside; excited to remove the day. "can i shower?" you ask quickly already making your way upstairs.

"oui, mon trèsor, make yourself at home. ill be up in a while." it was almost as if he had it scripted. a routine more or less. you'd ask to shower - despite him telling you almost each time you never had to ask - and go up stairs to do so; him trailing along about an hour later behind you. 

you finish your shower earlier than planned so you decide to lay on his bed until he comes up. you let your freshly washed body relish in the textures of the cotton t-shirt and shorts you're wearing and the damp-cool feel of the comforter on his bed. 

you're not left alone for long before he darts up the stairs and into his room, catching your attention. you watch as he walks around, dropping various articles of his clothing haphazardly on his floor. left in only his boxers. 

"timmy?" you ask in a drawn out voice. 

"hm?" he asks lowly in response; his eyes trained on you. you don't respond to his muffled question and instead watch as he comes to lean over the foot of the bed, by your legs. "i've been thinking," he continues, "a lot recently. about us.." 

"us?-" 

"about what the media thinks we are. what the people say. the blog posts, the tweets. i read it all… what do you think about it, y/n?" he ends with a light sigh, making drawing light swirls on your leg. 

"i dunno really. i've never thought much about it," you say sitting up. 

he moves up from his place in front of the bed, crawling up to sit to the right of your legs. knees drawn up to his chest, eyes meeting yours. he raises his hand so his fingertips ghost the curve of your cheek. "you never think about.. the possibility of us?" he pauses as his eyes drift from yours. hands falling to his lap as he scoots even closer to you. you sit stunned, not knowing how to answer as if it was some rhetoric instead of a simple question. filling the silence, he continues. "i think about how different things would be if we were together. what it would be like to hold you and kiss you and- can i kiss you?" 

his voice wavers as his eyes meet yours yet again. with quick movements, he moves to straddle your legs, both hands resting lightly on either side of your face. 

"can i kiss you?" he asks again, his face millimeters from yours. 

you shake your head yes as your eyes fluttering closed, your lips brushing against his as you move. 

he plants his lips firmly on yours. innocent at first, but the kiss quickly gets deeper. more desperate, his hands moving from the sides of your face to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back giving him access to your neck. his lips dance around the skin of your neck, being careful not to leave any marks. “is this okay?” he whispers, dragging his hands from your hair to the hem of your shirt. 

you nod your head vigorously and he pulls your shirt up and over your head, throwing it to the floor with his clothes. you lean back and give timothee free reign of your chest and stomach. he makes his way from your neck down and across your chest. your hands rush to knot in his hair as he takes a nipple in his mouth, carefully flicking his tongue across the hardening bud before doing the same to the other. 

"timmy.." you breathe out as he leaves your chest and explores lower. his eyes meet yours as his teeth come into contact with the flimsy waistband of your sleep shorts. "please," you whisper. 

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs; eyes going wide when he sees you have nothing underneath. 

"so pretty," he whispers almost to himself as he throws your shorts in his floor with the rest of your guys' clothes. he runs his finger along your slit, collecting some of your wetness, tasting it. laying back down with your legs over his shoulders, he hooks his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. he runs his tongue along your folds and you arch your back in response. he sucks on your clit making you squirm and tangle your fingers tighter in his hair, pushing against his face, eager for more. 

"tim-... timmy," you beg.

timothée kisses his way back up your body. "hm?" he hums softly beside your ear only for you to utter another weak 'please' in response. 

"please… please what, mon amour?" 

"baise moi.." you didn't know much french. you had picked up on a few of timothée's most used phrases, but this you hadn't learned from him, so it caught him off-guard. stuck in a moment of shock. hearing you say something so dirty in french felt so strangely intimate; you didn't have to ask him twice. 

he slips his boxers, finally accompanying you in nakedness, and slips into you, moaning at the feeling of you around him. 

"fuck.. timmy-" you groan as he picks up his pace. he coos sweet nothings into your ear while drilling into your core. 

his head drops to your chest and the soft, sweet praises slowly turn into obscenities. "merde," he groans, picking up his pace even more. holding himself at arms length above you, he throws his head back; lips parted in pure bliss. 

you lift one of your hands to trail down timothée's torso. you lazily drag your fingertips across his chest and down to his stomach. the pleasure building inside you, your hand finds its way to your clit. “timmy... fuck! ple- please don’t stop. fuuuuuck!” 

“défaire pour moi, y/n.” you didn’t think french could ever drive you to orgasm, but when it came from timothé anything was possible. you convulse around him as your wave of pleasure washes over you. timothée reaching his own peak soon after, pulling out and emptying on your stomach. he quickly finds something to clean you up with before plopping down on the bed beside you. many silent moments pass - nothing but heavy breaths leaving either of you - before he speaks up. “you know,” he begins in a soft whisper, “i felt bad- like i was using you. just to go to events with me. i know you don’t really like them but-” 

you cut him off and turn to face him. “i might hate going to those award shows, but they’re a little less bad with you around.” 

he breaks into a wide smile and pulls you closer, putting his head on your stomach. "mon amour, je t'ai toujours aimé." you reach down to play with his curls and begin to drift off on your way to sleep. 

#timothee x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timothée chalamet smut #timothee x reader smut #timothée x reader smut #timothée chalamet x reader smut #smut #fluff #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothée chalamet fic #timothée chalamet fanfiction

[kweebtrash]

Kinktober #3: Face Sitting (M)

Pairing: Hongseok x 2nd Person Reader

Summary:  Some kinda realer scenarios where not everyone can cum easily or have those magic orgasms but face sitting/riding may do the trick. Also Honk is excited for his victory

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I know kinktober is supposed to be S p i c y TM but idk, sometimes i just want some sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Kinktober Prompts by @immabiteyou​

You always had a problem with cumming. You had no idea what it was but nothing, no matter how hard you tried, took you over that edge. There may have been some small tremors here and there and you definitely werent asking for an over the top bone rattling orgasm at this point. Just ANYTHING would be fine. It always weighed on the back of your mind, especially knowing that Hongseok tried his absolute fucking damndest to make sure you felt good.

And you did. The way his strong hands roamed over your body, spreading fire throughout your skin, always made shivers zip throughout. His kisses were full of healing magic; those soft, sweet plump lips could cure any bad day but also ignite the dirtiest of feelings to where you ended up clawing at each other. His body-well that was a given- the boy woke up and looked at his abs first thing in the morning, every morning. He was obsessed with being fit (sometimes too obsessed) and there was a prying thought of self consciousness that popped into your head every once in awhile. Comparing the way you looked on his arm to his being in general sometimes made you feel like you werent good enough for him. But that surely couldnt have be part of the problem.

Because here he was, once again devoted to your body and full of determination. He knew you enjoyed fucking, the act of being close to him in of itself was always special and exciting. It was just your stupid body that wouldnt react. It was like your brain was screaming in pleasure but your body was just like ‘meh, gonna take the one thing you desire the most and just not do it’.

Maybe there were a few traumatic things that had to be worked through, sure, but Hongsi was the only man you had every fully trusted to never let you down. He knew almost immediately the first few times you had faked it, and it offended him, but you explained the annoyance at yourself-which was a bit hard to say the least.

“I loved it. I felt great, seriously i did. The only part that was faked was…"the end.”

And why? Because you were used to it. Because it was ingrained in you to do it; always making the man feel like he had done an amazing job-except this time Hongseok actually had. From the first time to the most recent. He never failed but you did.

He wanted honesty from that point on. He wanted to work on things, try everything under the sun; from restraints, to wax, to toys, and positions that were sometimes almost impossible. But it remained a puzzle the two of you couldnt solve. Tonight didnt seem to be any different save for the fact that you had taken up residence on his face like it was a goddamn throne. His tongue was diving so deep inside you, filling you with a nice warm, wet, thickness that made the pit of your stomach clench. He had eaten you out before, that was one of the first things he tried in an attempt to make you cum, but it had never occurred to either of you to actually try face sitting. Why? Who knows. Sometimes the simplest of things slip the mind and perhaps the whole time the two of you had been overthinking it.

But with all the gadgets and gizmos and positions that made you feel like you were in a yoga class thrown out the window, you found your nails digging into the wall that you had been supporting yourself on. The scratching forced chips of paint to crumble from the wall though it was nothing compared to how fast the headboard was thumping against it. Your thighs were burning but you continued rolling your hips like it was your job. Hongseok spurred you on as he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you were. Perhaps he was enjoying it much more.

He was growling, sometimes snarling, as he paired flickers of his tongue with hot open mouth kisses to your heat and nibbles to any sensitive area he could reach, especially the junction of your inner thighs. While your fingers dug into the wall, his dug into your hips, your ass, your back, marring you with the blunt indentations of his short nails and leaving streaks of red in their wake. You were sure he had barely come up for air and the one second you pulled away to make sure he was okay he forced you right back down to his lips with his nose brushing against the bundle of nerves that had awakened with desire. You were feeling all of your lower muscles tighten to the point where your legs almost felt numb but it was all worth it.

Hongseok slid his tongue through your folds once more, the tip of it teasing your hole that you though he had finally given a break to. The slow and lazy drags, however, were making you shudder just as much as the fast ones and covered your frame with everlasting tingles. Your free hand gripped onto his sweat soaked hair as you tried to level yourself. Holy shit, was this really it? Was this really the time were it would happen? Oh god, you werent ready. Well you were- in the sense that you had been waiting for this for YEARS with him-but also you werent exactly sure what it would feel like. Would this be one of those tiny ones that just felt like a relaxing exhale or one of those wild porn ones that were so ridiculous? Were you really going to scream in ecstasy and feel like you were going insane? Hell yes you were.

“H-Hong,” you choked out as he suctioned his lips around your clit while his thumbs spread your lower lips wide apart. “I think it-it’s happening.”

His eyes flung open, wide and flickering with undertones of amber within the dim beside lamp’s light. “Whats happening?” The words came out in muffled jumbles as he refused to pull away.

“You know…it. The…the thing.”

He finally pulled away as bewilderment spread across his face. “You mean like you feel like youre gonna cum?”

“I-i think so? I mean…im assuming that’s why everything feels so tense, like im gonna explode. That’s what happens right?”

“I think its different for everyone. I get tense too, but then i feel all warm and get kinda snuggly and hold onto you tighter.” He did and it was the cutest fucking thing ever.

“Well im hoping this is it.” You sighed.

“Dont start thinking about it now or you’ll lose focus. Just concentrate on me, babe. Just like before, yeah? Can you ride my face some more?”

“You really like this dont you?” You peered down at him and giggled.

“Baby, you were literally born to sit on my face, i swear it. It sounds stupid and fuckboy-ish, I know, but Ive never wanted this so bad until i felt you grind against my lips.”

Red flushed your cheeks and you looked away in an effort to hide your sudden shyness. Hongsi just chucked and placed the gentlest of kisses to your clit. “On me. Focus.” He reminded you again and you exhaled deeply, letting your mind go as much as it had before. Through the painful numbness in your bent legs that surrounded his head, you pushed on, wiggling your hips in a teasing way that earned a small smack to your ass. The sting made you jump but feel ever so much naughtier. It kick started your chaotic grinds again which welcomed the harsh thrusts and lewd slurping. It was almost embarrassing to hear how wet your were from both your cum and his tongue but in a weird way it gave you a sense of pride and reassurance that this felt amazing.

More pressure built up within your system and you found yourself short of breath now. You swallowed hard and tried to recoup but it was all for naught as your heart thundered so loud you could hear it in your ears. You had managed to make the headboard slam harder against the wall, the top of the filigreed wood leaving its own mark in the paint much like your nails had. Your thighs tightened and you could feel him smile into your skin. He fucking loved the way you seemed so close to crushing his skull if you actually could. The yanking of his hair to shove him closer, as if it were possible at this point, also had him lifting his head as your hips dipped and the very tip of his tongue hit something inside you just as it curled.

And then you let go. Almost so fast from everything that Hongseok had to press his hands into your lower back to prevent you from tossing yourself back completely. You were shaking, your knees digging into the pillow beneath his head. Your hands that had found safety in the wall and his hair now flailed and searched for something to hold onto but it was like they couldnt. You had lost all control. Your brain was fuzzy. Your body was fuzzy. But best of all you felt wave after wave of clench and release with your first full orgasm.

He finally let you go and you collapsed to the wayside instantly curling against his side. He pulled you into his arms and speckled your head with kisses as he squeezed you tight. He was patient and waited for you to come down though he was absolutely beaming with pride. “That was…not how i imagined it would feel like but holy shit.” You managed to finally say.

“Fuck yeah!!” He said victoriously and he raised his hand for a high five. You couldnt help but laugh at his dorkiness and return the gesture. The excitement and happiness between you two was unfathomable. You didnt want to say that this was the best night with him just because you finally came. There had been plenty of other times where he made you feel so perfect and precious and completely in love with him that you almost cherished that more. But tonight was definitely like top five material.

“Im happy i could finally do this for you…” He returned to seriousness and you sighed as you began to wipe away traces of your cum from his face.

“Im sorry if you felt like i put pressure on you. I never meant-”

“Nah, it wasnt you. It was me. You know how i can sometimes be a perfectionist and i know its not like the end all be all of our relationship but…i dont know. I always felt like you deserved to feel good and happy. Like you just deserved…everything.” He shrugged and pretended to take more interest in plucking away a stray hair from your shoulder.

The guilt you had accumulated over the years suddenly lessened and you realized that it wasnt just about making you feel good sexually. It was actually, as cliche as it sounded, about bringing you two closer together in devotion and fulfilling a fantasy. The warmth in your body returned but for a different and cheesy romance movie kinda reason and you snuggled closer to his chiseled chest.

“Thank you…” You whispered. “For not being annoyed or giving up on me and helping me work through whatever was holding me back.”

“It’s what im here for, right? I think i’d be a shitty boyfriend if i wasnt.”

“Well you got that right.” You tilted your head up and kissed him gently, tasting the aftermath on his lips. “You better go wash your face before it gets all sticky.”

“That can wait. Besides i was kinda wondering if….” The both of you looked down at his cock, knocking your heads in the process. It never failed for the two of you to have an idiotic moment but he definitely needed to be rewarded after this.

#hongseok #yang hongseok #hongseok smut #pentagon smut #ptg smut #kinktomato #pentagon drabble #yang hongseok smut #hongseok fluff #pentagon fluff #ptg fluff #universe #idk what else to tag this as tbh

[dontshouta]

elegant obscenities

summery: Your tattoo session which you’ve had scheduled for months has finally arrived and you finally get to meet the man everyone’s speaking so highly of. pairing: tattoo artist!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader word count: 3,799 note: modern au! also,, this is ns*fw so please… if ur not into that... just look away alsoalso, my tattoo knowledge is very limited.. im goin based on what ive seen on t.v or what ive read.. soo sorry if anythings wrong lol i dont have the heart to do extensive research on it atm but i hope you enjoy nonetheless

To say you were excited was a massive understatement. You felt like your heart was gonna burst from how quickly it was beating, your stomach felt like the den of a thousand butterflies, and yet you couldn’t wipe the huge smile plastered on your face.  Today, you were going to see what all the fuss was about. Today, you were getting your first tattoo from the King of Tattoos himself-- Bakugou Katsuki. Just the mere thought of it shot a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You’ve heard so many reviews on this guy, you’ve seen his beautiful works on yelp, you’ve seen the clean and cut format of the parlor’s website- he was no joke. Though, his reputation seemed flawless, people did seem to not like his attitude. But of course, that would be ultimately overlooked, his work was just that good. 

As excited you were, you were equally nervous. You didn’t know if you could sit through an hour session of what could possibly be him yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs. Or at least, that’s what some people have claimed to have happened. You wanted to remain optimistic though, and decided not showing up would be a waste of everyone’s time.

So, with determination and excitement fueling your resolve, you entered the tattoo parlor. You were greeted by an eager redhead, who smiled when you told him of your appointment.

“Oh yeah! Well, Y/N, if you could read over these papers and sign ‘em, Bakugou’ll be ready for you when your done!”

You took the clipboard with a smile and sat down. For a moment, you just stared at the words, not really reading them and letting the paper blur. You only hesitated for a moment, before grabbing the pen and firmly filling out the forms. You couldn’t possibly back out now, you’ve waited months for this opportunity! Just because some reviews said he could be a scary guy, psh, from what you’ve seen from the redhead, he couldn’t possibly be that bad, right? Just as you signed your last signature, someone cursed at the end of the hall.

“Shitty-hair! Is that client here yet?! I’m not gonna fuckin’ wait all damn day!” 

You froze in your seat, your eyes watching the redhead as he rolled his eyes.

“She’s here, dude, chill.” 

You gulped, pen shaking in your hand as you stared at the papers again. Was this guy serious? He sounds like he could up and kill me with his tattoo gun! The redhead laughed, taking in your pale figure and offering a calming smile. You relaxed the slightest bit.

“Ah, don’t mind him. He’s all bark and no bite, you’ll be fine. It’s just a tattoo after all!” He laughed again, trying to get you to ease out of your frightened position. “Are you done filling those out? If you could hand me your I.D you’ll be all set!”

You nodded mutely, handing him your I.D and clipboard. His reassurances should’ve placated you but why were you so damn tense? Was the reality of getting a tattoo settling into your bones and immobilizing you? You let out a deep sigh, deciding it’s now or never, hostile artist or not, he still was the best of the best.

The redhead, Kirishima he said was his name, handed you back your I.D and beckoned you to follow him down the hall. The closer you got to the room, the quicker your heart beat. You were so nervous, so excited, you didn’t know what to do with the plethora of emotions surrounding you. With a deep breath, you entered the room behind Kirishima.

The room was covered in art and designs of the past on the walls, fat binders lining bookshelves and a desk spilling over with sketches and unfinished line work. You could tell just from the room alone the experience Bakugou’s had. The tattoo table sat in the corner, laughing at your hesitance,  which almost had you running for the hills at the mere sight of it. The air smelt sterile, and you took a deep breath again to try and calm your jolting nerves. Just as you did, the air caught in your throat when you finally laid eyes on your tattoo artist. His eyes were an angry red, brows set in a frown as he appraised your form. You were frozen at the door, not quite able to tear your eyes away. No one mentioned anything about how hot he was! Feeling very deceived by the reviews online, you shimmied yourself fully into the room, all the while staring at the famed Bakugou Katsuki.

“Took you long enough.” He grumbled with a click of his tongue, strong, impossibly tattooed arms crossed over a built torso. He wore a black tank top, not leaving much to the imagination and wore watching black jeans, which hung delectably low on his hips. Now you weren’t sure if you could sit in the same room as him for a completely different reason.

Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Dude, she’s early. Impatience is so not manly.” He huffed, walking out of the room, giving you a thumbs up and smile on the way out.

Now you were left alone. With an insanely attractive man whose hands and eyes were going to be all over you for the next hour. Your earlier hesitance in the matter all but withered away and was replaced with a newfound excitement. 

You waved awkwardly, smiling slightly. “Um, hi, I’m Y/N! I’ve heard so many great things about you!” You greeted, hoping you didn’t seem overly eager. Now with your resolve restored tenfold, you wanted to get off on the right foot. His temper still looming over your head dangerously.

He clicked his tongue again, eyes roaming over your figure. “You better have, I don’t run this fuckin’ business for nothin’.” He mumbled, motioning for you to sit at that tattoo table while he prepared.

You watched him eagerly, eyes following where he slapped on his latex gloves. You drank in the way his nimble fingers worked with his equipment, sending you head reeling from thoughts of what else they could do. Goodness, this is embarrassing. Get yourself together, Y/N! You can’t be getting yourself all hot and bothered, this is a professional environment! And with that, you averted your eyes and focused them on your twiddling thumbs. 

“So’re you gonna take your pants off or what?” He finally asked, eyes slanting in passive anger at you.

“Wh- huh?!” You exclaimed, almost falling off the table in pure shock. Take off my pants?? Has he noticed my staring? Wait- can he read my thoughts?!

“I can’t tattoo your thigh over you pants, you know. Idiot, you should’ve worn shorts or somethin’.” His voice was laced with superiority as he chastised you, making your thighs clench unconsciously. You were not going to survive this session.

With flaming cheeks, you stood from the table, hands poised over the button of your jeans.

“R-Right.. Well um, would.. Would you mind turning around or something?” You asked quietly, the blush on your cheeks traveling to the rest of your face as you stared into his red eyes. Which he rolled.

“I’m gonna see you half naked anyway,  just take your pants off so we can get this shit over with.” He commanded, a brow raised haughtily as he sat on the stool next to the table. 

Now, you really didn’t think this through. You’d hoped he’d find you half naked in different circumstances, but here you were, jeans pooling around your ankles in contempt while the flush seemed to travel throughout the rest of your body. How could you forget that you wanted this stupid tattoo on your thigh? At first, you didn’t think anything of it, believing you wouldn’t be attracted to your artist. Fate had other plans though, and made your artist the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

You stepped out of your jeans, mumbling begrudgingly as you scooped the mass of fabric from the ground. Once you straightened up, you made eye contact with Bakugou. For a split second, it looked like he was staring at you ass. If you were bolder you might’ve said something like “Like what you see?” but instead, you shook your head, finding the notion preposterous as you sat back onto the table with curses being muttered under your breath.

“It ain’t my fault you wanted the damn tattoo on your thigh, no need to get all bitchy with me.” That comment might’ve brought down his attractiveness to you by about one percent, so any response that you had died in your throat once he started cleaning the exposed area on your thigh. Your lips were zipped tight, trying your absolute best and then some to keep any peep from coming out of your mouth. 

The breath that had been stuck in your chest finally escaped from your body once Bakugou pulled away, reaching for the readied transfer paper. You eyes softened at the sight of the design of your tattoo, heart fluttering at the way Bakugou had rendered it.

“It looks beautiful.” You whispered, smile blossoming on your face as he applied the transfer to your thigh, momentarily forgetting your qualms about the damn artist’s proximity. 

He hummed in response, clearly denoting an I know in his wake as he removed the transfer paper. “Look in the mirror and tell me it looks good.” He commanded, his tone clearly indicating he already knows it looks good. Probably just wants me to stroke his ego some more.

You got up anyway, not wanting to disobey him, and checked out the art that was going to be permanently etched into you skin in an hour’s time. “It’s perfect.” You breathed, checking yourself out in the mirror with renewed excitement. When you turned back, Bakugou’s eyes flickered up from your thigh to your eyes. He cleared his throat, motioning you to sit back on the table with a flick of his wrist.

“Duh, I strive for nothin’ but perfection.” He said, gloved hands patting the table impatiently.

Was that… a blush on his cheeks? Your heart rate accelerated, smile growing as you skipped back onto the table. “I don’t doubt it, Bakugou! Alright, now tat me up!” You were giggling happily, legs spread onto the table before the young artist, which, unbeknownst to you, had his heart rate going a mile a minute.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

With that, he leaned into you inner thigh, one hand gripping onto the soft flesh while the other poised the tattoo gun over it. 

“Brace yourself, it ain’t the most comfortable feeling in the world.” He warned, barely giving you any time to actually do so before getting to work.

A gasp escaped from your lips once you felt the tattoo gun connect with your skin, not necessarily in pain but to your horror, in pleasure. You bit your lip, trying to seem nonchalant but in all reality, heat was rushing to your core and you started to feel your body temperature rise considerably. You couldn’t really blame yourself, an attractive man’s face was inches from your barely concealed vagina while he gripped your thigh. How could you not get turned on? What was really going through your head though, was how you were going to distract yourself. You couldn’t possibly think about him and only him this entire time, right? He’d probably catch on and kick you out or something. You wouldn’t be able to stand the embarrassment that would come with that. 

While you did try to keep your mind occupied, you couldn’t help but watch the artist at work. His tongue slightly poked out his lips every now and then. Sometimes he’d blow out a breath which would hit your thigh deliciously and send you head spinning. He’d squeeze your thigh and maneuver it this way and that to get a better angle. Every little thing had your heart racing, your thighs needing to clench, your core needing some damn friction. You were, to put it lightly, going fucking insane.

Bakugou suddenly pulled back, his face screwed up in an expression you couldn’t place. An agitated groan escaped his lips while he made aggressive eye contact with you.

“Wh- ar-are you done-?!” Your eyes flickered to the unfinished tattoo, your expression turning confused when you met his eyes again. “What-?”

He shoved himself onto you, pupils blown wide with arousal. “You know what you’re doin’, huh? Don’t play dumb with me you’ve been acting like this since you walked in here.. You know how hard it is to fucking concentrate when I can just smell how wet you are? Huh?” He all but growled, eyes glued to yours while his large hands gripped your waist possessively.

You took in a shaky breath, breaking eye contact to watch his body hover impossibly close to yours. A sweat had built around Bakugou’s temples, body slightly shaking with restraint as he gathered your next reaction.

“Fuck.. you can’t blame me, can you?!” You yelled, hands gripping onto his strong biceps. “You’re over here gripping on my thigh and breathing on my coochie, how the fuck am I supposed to react?”

Your response shocked him, but was enough to confirm any suspicions he had and he immediately clashed his lips with yours. You melted instantly, hands roaming up to grip at his sandy hair roughly. Teeth clashed, tongues melded and fought for dominance, breath coming in hot and heavy as your bodies melted into each other. Bakugou was already hard against your thigh, member pulsing through his jeans and prodding closer and closer to your dripping core. 

You moved to wrap your exposed legs around his waist but was shoved roughly back onto the table, Bakugou breaking the heated kiss and roaming down. His hands left a trail of fire on your exposed skin, causing small, broken mewls to slip to your lips while he pushed your top over your breasts, his eyes drinking in your heated form greedily.

“Fuck baby you look so good like this. I’ve barely even touched you and you already look fucked out, all for me huh?” He purred obscenities into your ear, a shiver wracking through your body at his words. His hands barely skimmed over your bra, your breath held in anticipation as he slowed his rough mannerisms to admire your breathless body. A low growl emitted from the back of his throat, his hands pushing your bra down to expose your chest, your nipples hardening immediately in the crisp air. Deft, tattooed fingers toyed with your breasts, red eyes burning into your own as he watched you writhe underneath him, your legs rubbing together incessantly to try and gauge at least the tiniest amount of friction you could get. 

You whined needily, fingers fisting into his hair as you tried to connect your barely concealed pelvis with his.

“Nuh, uh, baby girl I’m gonna need you to be patient, yeah? Can you be patient for me?” His tone was laced with such dominance you were rendered speechless, a nod of your head indicating you understood what he was implying.

“No, that ain’t gonna cut it sweetheart, use your fucking words or else I’m stoppin’ right here, when we’ve barely even gotten started.” His fingers gripped your chin, forcing your gaze onto his.

“Y-Yes, sir..?” You were hesitant with the addition of the title but a hum of approval resonated from the tattooed man that had you relaxing back into the table again. Your eyes watched his every move while he lowered himself closer to you, a feeling of desperation slowly gnawing at you. His hands roamed every inch of exposed skin, from the apples of your cheeks down to your pelvis, his fingers toying dangerously with the waistband of your delicate panties.

Just as you thought he was gonna grant you at least some relief, his fingers skimmed past the waistband completely, ignoring the removal of the tiny article of clothing and instead moving to push a tattooed finger against your core teasingly. A gasp escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his bicep for dear life, the tiny amount of contact overwhelming you.

He chuckled dangerously, his face moving to hover over your clothed heat, his hot breath tickling your thighs.

“Oh, please, just fucking touch me, Bakugou.” You seethed, your patience growing incredibly thin. You wanted to reach for his wrist and just make him touch you yourself but you didn’t want to push your luck, having already yelled at the man already. 

He laughed at your command, his hands moving to grip your hips while his tongue poked out of his mouth to gently prod at your panties. An eloquent oh fuck rolled out of your mouth, his hands gripping harder as his tongue lightly grazed over your clothed cunt.

“Is this what you wanted, princess?” He murmured against your wet panties, his eyes lazily gazing up at you. The sight of his face buried in between your legs had you shaking, the hands in his hair impossibly tightening while you tugged him closer to you.

“Bakugou, please, please, please, eat me out I can’t take it anymore, I want you to fuck me so-!” You cut yourself off with a hearty moan, his fingers snatching your underwear to the side and delving his tongue into dripping core. One of his hands massaged your hip, while the other snaked to toy with your entrance. You were already gasping for breath, legs spasming against his head while he dug himself deeper into you. His tongue laved other your clit, alternating between drawing lazy circles and sucking it hard. The juxtaposition of movements drove you mad, your head falling back against the table with your back arching, you hips bucking into his mouth greedily. His finger finally pushed into you, the combination of his thrusting finger and suckling lips pushing you further and further towards the edge.

All too soon, the friction was gone just as you felt your climax rush over you, causing a shriek of disapproval to sound from you. Your head was up in a flash to shoot a look of desperation to the teasing man. His gaze shook you to your very core, almost undoing you just then, with eyes completely clouded over with unadulterated lust. He smirked, bringing his soiled fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. A whine emitted from your throat, the display downright lewd and having you begging for more.

“Baku-”

“Call me Katsuki, darling.”

“Katsuki, please.”

And with that statement, his tank top was off. His pretty fingers worked to smoothly take off his belt and pants, the mere sounds of the rustling clothes bringing more excitement in between your legs. You crawled toward him, moving to help but he quickly pinned you back down onto the table.

“Now, now, let’s not get too hasty. I plan on fuckin’ that pretty pussy of yours real good, yeah? Don’t you worry that pretty little fuckin’ head of yours.”

Bakugou picked you up with ease, flipping you around and bending you over so your ass was up in the air for him to lay a resounding smack onto it. He hummed while you whined desperately, his abusing hand rubbing the skin immediately to soothe the reddening cheek. You legs felt wobbly, barely able to keep yourself up for him. He was rubbed languid strokes against his angry cock, angling it towards your entrance and prodding at it coyly. He tapped the appendage against your folds, chuckling as your hips bucked up against him. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes dark and dangerous as he started to shift his hips forwards to meet yours. You watched the muscles in his beautifully inked stomach flex as he moved, the feeling of slowly being filled just too good.

Once he was fully inside you, you gasped hotly, trying to accustom yourself to the sensation of being so thoroughly stretched out. His eyes watched attentively, flickering from your stretched hole and to your face. He moved his hips back tortuously slow, setting a pace so agonizingly good that you could barely open you mouth without moaning desperately.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You half-sobbed, clinging to the table for dear life as he rocked into you. He moved to hide his face against the back of your neck, latching onto the juncture of her shoulder and throat in a way that made you sure he would leave a mark. The feeling was almost too much– the slow drag of his cock inside you, the ministrations of his lips, teeth and tongue on your shoulder, the quiet and low growls leaving his perfect lips– you were done for.

His large hands gripped your ass, alternating from hard gropes to rough slaps that resounded about the room and arousing you tenfold. Broken moans fled your lips, your fingernails scratching at the table hopelessly. His cock pulsed within you as he quickened his pace abruptly, his hand fisting into your hair and forcing your back to arch up into him. You cried out in pure glee, your breasts bouncing while he pounded mercilessly into you. 

His hands held your hips in a bruising grip, the pain mixing deliciously with the absolute pleasure that was Bakugou’s pace. His lips were muttering obscenities into your ear, alternating from suckling your earlobe in between his teeth and littering your neck with pretty purple bruises. You have ascended, your mind gone due to this tattoo artist’s godly dick. 

You were sputtering, moans never ceasing to escape from your lips as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, your body becoming hotter and hotter with every deep thrust. You felt your climax building, your walls clenching around his thick cock, causing him to curse into your ear.

His unoccupied hand snaking around your waist to rub quick circles into your clit, sending your body into overdrive and making you see stars.

“I’m go-gonna- oh my goodness- I’m gonna f-fucking come-!” Your body was on fire, your mind short-circuiting with the amount of pleasure wracking your body as you finally came. Your moans came louder with it, your body spasming against his still pistoning cock.

He came soon after, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he rode out his high within your overstimulated walls. Bakugou released your hair, your body falling limply onto the tattoo table. You were gasping for breath, his seed pooling out of your pussy and onto the table. His fingers circled your folds and gathered the come from it, holding them out in front of your lips.

“Now, be a good girl and swallow my cum, huh, princess?”

#i hope this is like... GOOD #i spent like two days on this #mainly bc im a pro procrastinator #ANYWAY #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mha x reader #mha smut #ns*fw

[calpalirwin]

Closer

Summary: Some girls you just can’t forget.

A/N: Inspired (loosely) by Closer by The Chainsmokers. Unintended sequel to Hotel Key

Content: Angst. Implied smut.

Word Count: ~800

And away, and away we go!

__

A hand landed heavily on Calum’s shoulder, a voice pulling him out of his memory. “Mate, ya good?”

Calum shook his head, his vision clearing. “What? Yeah, I’m good.”

“Then get the door will ya?”

Calum laughed as he pulled the hotel key out his wallet, his eyes landing on the faded one behind it. He wasn’t sure why he had kept it. It’s not like he’d ever be able to forget her or the night they had shared. He wondered if she ever made it to Austin. And he hoped that when she looked at her own key that she thought of him.

When Luke excused himself to sleep off his jetlag, Mike broke out his computer for some gaming, and Ashton wandered out onto the balcony to mediate, Calum took it upon himself to head to the bar on the ground floor.

“Anybody ever tell you that you drink too much?” a voice asked from next to him as he nursed his drink. He blinked, certain he had heard wrong, but when he turned to take her in, his breath rushed out of his chest.

She looked much like she had that night long ago. As if time had stilled just for her. “Some people might call it an issue, but I’m not some people,” he answered, before throwing back the rest of his drink. The glass landed on the bar top with a sharp clink. He had been doing just fine until she entered his life, and then exited like they hadn’t spent a night together that he’d never be able to shake no matter how many nights they had spent apart since, or would continue to spend.

“Ooo,” she pretended to shiver. “Always this cold, Cal?”

He rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the stool. His gaze flickered over to where a table of women were watching him and her carefully. He nodded curtly in their direction before his fiery eyes were on her, “Tell your friends it was nice to meet them, or whatever,” he told her, even though he hadn’t introduced himself to have been in the position of meeting her friends in the first place. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to meet them. He never wanted to see them, or her-especially her- again. His stomach churned, and he couldn’t tell if it was because her presence infuriated him or broke his heart. He didn’t particularly care to find out if it was the latter. The anger felt better. Whatever their expectations-or lack thereof- of the night they shared, he hadn’t expected for her to just up and leave without so much as a goodbye.

A scoff escaped her as she crossed her arms. “So, you’re just gonna leave?”

“You should recognize it well. It’s your signature move.”

Her fingers wrapped around his bicep as he pushed past her. “Wait.”

Was that a small waver in her otherwise steady tone? “Oh, what now?” he asked, too exhausted already to keep up his cold demeanor with her. “You walked out on me… what was it? 4 years ago? No call. No text. Not even a damn goodbye. Just gone. And now you wanna talk? No. You had your chance.”

“Neither of us wanted more than a night, and you know that.”

“Then why are you here?” His brown eyes shifted from her face to her fingers that were still wrapped around his arm.

Her hand dropped and the loss of contact went bone deep. “Because one night wasn't enough.”

He let out a short breath that held the hint of a humorless chuckle. “Do us both a favor, and go back to Austin. We’re not one of those stories.” The biting edge was back as he threw her words in her face.

“We could be,” she countered with his own words before her lips were on his.

~~~

“Why’d you leave?” His voice was a low whisper as his teeth nipped playfully at her bare shoulder.

“I’m insane,” she breathed before rolling onto her back to look up at him. “We didn’t want anything serious. Thought it was just easier to leave.”

He flopped down beside her amongst the pillows, sighing heavily. He couldn’t fault her, no matter how badly he wanted to. They had made it clear from the start that they were only looking for a way to chase an end to the night. “And now?”

The sheets rustled with her shrug. “Some days I still want to disappear. See if I’m worth being missed.”

“You are,” he assured her. One night had been enough to sear her into him forever, whether they had wanted that to happen or not. And every girl he’d been with since, he saw her face. And now with two nights with her? He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about what came next.

“Cal?” she asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them as their minds fought with their feelings. Chase independence, and risk ending up right back here in four years again when the cycle ran its course. Chase each other, and risk going up in smoke.

“Hmm?”

“I think I want to stay this time.”

__

Tag List

@frontmanash​ @goeatsomelife​ @flameraine​ @cashtonasff5sos​ @here-for-the-uproars​ @cxddlyash​ @1-irwin-94​ @sparkling-calm​ @tea4sykes​ @youngblood199456​ @5-seconds-of-obsession​ @gosh-im-short​ @aquarius-hood1996​ @talkfastromance4​ @itjustkindahappenedreally​ @philthepegacorn​ @kikixfandoms​

#closer #calum hood #calum hood fic #5sos #galcal irwin

[capricornus-rex]

Bad Ideas Make Good Memories (2)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @queen-destenie​ | Prompt:

i live for you qUEEN! i LOVE your writing. if you have the time, could you do a fic where reader is the most reckless badass and Cal is like ‘wait don’t do THAT’ and she is just ‘im living life BABYY’. she does the most insane things that always somehow work and Cal is literally like what the F*CK’. reader is basically a GOD. please and thank you

Additional tags: Rebel base, Rebel fleet

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2 of ?

Both Jedi Interceptors hovered out of the covered hangar, following the standard operating procedures of the ship—with the help of your astromech droids and BD-1 for Cal only—your ship’s speed warmed up as the landing gears folded in and you’re starting to feel the altitude.

A medley of starfighters and gunships of different make followed at your flank. As all of the ships poured out of the hangar and hovered above the treelines, the two Jedi enhanced their ships’ communications so that it reaches both the command on the ground and the Mantis.

“Wings are now out of the nest,” a scout from the watchtower reports, he repeated the words twice until his voice came through to the command center on the ground.

“All wings report in,” a commander from the ground radioed through all communications.

“Interceptors, standing by.” you and Cal reported.

“Guns, standing by.”

“Aqua Squadron, standing by.”

“Maroon Squadron, standing by.”

The leaders of the Aqua and Maroon Squadrons commanded all of the pilots to report in their call signs—each squadron had eight pilots. The ships were not uniform, but they have the streaks painted across the exteriors of their fighter ships to distinguish them from the other.

R-12 beeped anxiously at you as its scanners picked up the signatures of the incoming TIE Fighters.

“Yeah, I see them, buddy. Good job,” you affirmed.

“Interceptor Two, what’s the current status?”

“Picking up seven signatures, they’ve cut through the atmosphere,” you reported coolly while keeping calm breaths. “TIE Fighters.”

The speeds of the Jedi Interceptors are picking up, the distance between those TIE Fighters is gradually shrinking, and the two of your prepared yourself to attack.

“Stay close, [y/n],”

“I’m gonna have a hard time doing that!” you chuckled.

The TIE Fighters were the first to open fire, all the ships scrambled from their line of fire, causing the TIEs to disperse and chase after their targets—each one has caught an Interceptor in their fronts, both of you were trying to shake it.

In the first few minutes, fighters from the Aqua Squadron have been shot down but the Maroon Squadron backed up the numbers. From the ground, the operators are working real-time as the skirmish occurs in the air.

“Cal and [y/n]?”

“Interceptors One and Two are still online!”

Cere released a sigh that has been choking her since the ships have been deployed. She spotted the twin blips glowing white against the transparent screen, behind those twin blips were the other ships in their designated colors; one by one, each mark vanished from the screen faster than the red ones flying on the other side of the screen.

“Come on, you two…” Cere mumbled under her breath.

The TIE Fighter persisted in tailing you and shooting you until you’re in its range. Glancing only for a second on your radar, you knew you had to think fast.

“[y/n], that TIE is still on your tail!” Cal pointed out.

“I know, I’m trying to shake him. He’s slippery too!”

Cal’s Interceptor and the TIE chasing him flew in your view at your windshield, a lightbulb flickered bright as the sun in your head.

“Cal, I have an idea!”

“Hoo boy, here she comes!” he remarked jokingly. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

“Cover me and I’ll cover you!”

He immediately understood your idea and continued darting through the skies. You gently pushed the steering wheel forward.

“R-12, can you crank up the attack speed!”

“Bee-woop!”

“Attaboy!”

The droid accelerated your Interceptor’s speed to level three. You and Cal’s Interceptors with the TIE Fighters behind you made a swerving bee-line in the sky. The targeting device activated, a white-lined grid glowed over the red screen and the icon of the TIE Fighter registers on the screen.

The enemy’s icon finally settled in the center circle and without a moment’s hesitation, your thumbs crunched the trigger, blue twin lasers shot out of your ship’s guns and damaged the TIE’s wing; you let out another shot and decimated the second wing until it bursts into flames while spinning out of control.

“Alright, my turn, sweetie!”

Cal did a somersault with his Interceptor and placed himself right behind your pursuant. He manually boosted the Interceptor’s attack speed until he was within shooting range. He rested his thumbs over the trigger.

“Watch this, BD!”

“Woooo!”

Ion cannons sputtered out of the barrels and Cal hit a bullseye straight into the TIE Figher’s cockpit. The excited redhead celebrated from the cockpit of his ship and he didn’t realize that his headset in linked in communicating with yours. His celebratory howling busted your right eardrum that you flinched and your ship quaked when you lost a split-second’s worth of control.

“Show-off!” you exclaimed while massaging the crevices of your ear.

“Oh sorry, too loud?”

“No worries, but I’m not gonna let you one-up me, honey!”

“Oh, it’s on!”

The Interceptors flew back into the heart of the skirmish and helped out the other pilots with persistent TIE Fighters on their tails. You and Cal split up to cover the pilots—especially the gunships.

“Keep those TIEs out of the gunships! Guns pack a punch but they’re not built for easy maneuvering!” you barked through the shared-line communications.

“Copy that, Interceptor Two!” the Aqua Seven pilot responded to your call, speaking on behalf of everyone.

All of the smaller and nimbler fighters drew the fire of the TIEs, away from the big gunships that also served as transports for the soldiers; the slippery ones were the ones you pursued, hanging tight in your seat as you maneuver your ship in spins—something that was once a luxury for you when the moment in opportune—and reducing those TIEs into shrapnel with your shooting.

“Nice shooting,” Cal complimented.

“Thanks!” you beamed in a high-pitch, almost too-effeminate tone.

An urgent transmission from the ground cut off your fun, private banter, “I’m picking up some signatures… THEY’RE HUGE!!”

“That can never be good,” you muttered, the playful smile in your face dissolving.

R-12’s scanners have picked up the said signatures as well and reflected them on your radar. Before you even had the time to glance at your screen, they emerged like the undead out of their graves—AT-ATs rising up, rearing their hunched metal backs and heads, and breaking down the trees that stood in their way as they erected themselves.

“Okay, now that is overkill!” you exclaimed at the sight of the pair of AT-ATs.

“Interceptors, I’m picking up another signature—but it’s in the air!”

“Can’t catch a damn break, can we?”

A TIE Assault Shuttle comes to you in full speed and pulls a barrage against you! You barely dodged the hail of blasts it sent your way; only affording a second, you peered at the window at your side while maneuvering your Interceptor—the AT-ATs surely aren’t taking their time, their walking pace doubled from their usual, keeping their sights set on the rebel base after the trees.

Big radar signatures and SHE is going towards it? Great. Cal thought to himself as soon as he saw you zooming past at the corner of his windshield.

“I’ll cover you,” the firm tone in his voice indicated that he doesn’t want to hear a counterargument.

You orbited the walkers and then caught sight of the TIE Assault Shuttle, you only have seconds to come up with a plan; in the blink of an eye, the craziest idea borne from that little disadvantage popped into your head.

“[y/n], you’ve been quiet now. What are you thinking?”

There was a nervous tone in Cal’s voice as he continued to fly by your side while observing the enemy lines. The ground base can also hear everyone’s transmission in designated receivers, and most of them had their ears on you and Cal’s; they detected that unusual silence in your end, they all blankly stared at the holograph that relays your transmissions—anticipating to hear your voice. Cere’s eyes wandered across the flat surface of the illuminated holotable—she stopped observing the other friendlies’ blips, she focused at that one quadrant of the radar with you and Cal’s blips circling the AT-ATs’ signatures.

“What’s happened to her? She’s not down, is she?” one of the head operators blurted.

“No, she’s not—she’s still there,” Cere answered, even if the question wasn’t for her to answer.

You ignored Cal’s question and tightened your grip around your steering wheel. Your fingers dexterously danced across your dashboard.

“She’s prepping her droid… but for what?” the operator relayed.

“R-12, remember when you said you’ll have my back?”

“[y/n]!?” Cal prolonged the syllable in your name as he called you again for your attention.

“Well, you gotta have my back now, R-12!”

“Be-bee… BEEEE?!!?”

Cal saw your starfighter’s cockpit dome opening up in the middle of flight. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He still can’t comprehend what plan is running in your mind—and why, of all things, this kind of plan—and how are you going to execute it.

“[Y/N]!!!” he screamed, he didn’t think that you’d hear him with just his bare voice. The microphone of his headset was so overwhelmed by the volume that feedback crackled through your headset—nevertheless, you ignored his voice and for good reason.

Feel… don’t think. You chanted in your mind as you prepared yourself to execute your plan alone.

“R-12, override now!”

“BEEEEE!!!!”

You released your grip from the steering wheel, the Interceptor was now in full control of R-12, and you ejected yourself out of the cockpit, surfing on the wing as your starfighter did a fly-by near the larger TIE. You timed the moment of your jump across with a pinpoint precision that you basically have no backup plan if you don’t make it.

The Jedi Interceptor’s wingspan did little in bridging you to the top of the TIE Assault Shuttle. You kept your feet planted on the wing and then sprang off towards the large enemy ship. You didn’t realize the gap in between was great and you’re afraid that you might have miscalculated yourself.

#cal kestis #cal kestis fic #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x reader fic #star wars #star wars fic #sw #sw fic #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi fallen order fic #swjfo #swjfo fic #sw jfo #sw jfo fic #jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order fic #rebel fleet #rebel base #request #requested #fic request #fic #requested by queen-destenie

[callmethehunter]

Hey everyone!! New Chapter of Robert Fan Fic!! Thanks @firethatgrewsolow for help with edits and for just being so incredibly giving of your time and talent and as always, thanks to @brownskinsugarplum76 for her encouragement to keep at it! This is a continuation of Part I from a few weeks ago. I am pasting the very last paragraph of Part I in italics for a smoother transition. RECAP: So basically, its 1968, the girl had spotted Robert walking towards a group of people at the beach, and was just starting to feel the effects of the acid she had taken earlier. There’s lots of flirting and some sensual moments but the real NSFW is soon to come as Part III. Previously… Ending of Part 1: The same breeze that now caressed her skin also danced among his ringlets . We are all interconnected, she marveled. He brushed the hair away from his forehead, tucking a few golden wisps behind his ear, as his eyes roamed the gathering, coming to rest on hers. A bolt of lightning lit the darkest corners of her mind. Her tanned face flushing, she instinctively dropped her gaze and looked down at her feet, still buried in the sand where the white foamy waves pursued and retreated. She swallowed hard, as she looked up to find him still studying her. And smiling. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part II Why did his gaze and his smile cause a visceral reaction, speeding up her heartbeat and making it difficult to breathe? Trying to appear nonchalant, she looked up in his general direction, afraid that she would find his eyes lingering, but he was deep in conversation. She looked away again, flustered, only to find his beautiful face imprinted on her brain. Damn, she murmured to herself, get yourself together girl, or this acid trip’s gonna take you off on a wild ride for sure… You want to be the captain of this trip, she thought. With his afterimage still floating on her retinas, she mustered all her courage and tried to stand on legs that felt numb and rubbery. She bent down to grab her sandals, almost lost her balance, turned, and began the trek back to the picnic tables. Through the shadows she tried to calculate how long she would have to walk unobscured and visible to the group. She suddenly felt conspicuous and a little paranoid, as if everyone would stop and stare. But why should I care? She wondered…and answered herself under her breath, singing: “Actin’ funny but I don’t know why, ‘scuse me while I kiss the sky- ta dah da da dar” she air guitared Jimi’s solo with gusto, playing the imaginary Stratocaster left handed, like Jimi. She realized just how absurd she must appear, but that only made her collapse into peals of laughter. The more she tried to stop, the more out of control she became. “Pero que chevere! How groovy is this!” If only she could save this moment of complete abandon and take it out to relive whenever she wanted…wouldn’t that be sweet? For a brief moment, she was literally on all fours, as she tried to resume a respectable upright posture, hoping no one had noticed her momentary insanity….But someone had seen, and it was then she realized that the blonde stranger was emerging from the shadows, taking on shape and substance…the stars flickered on and off, the universe held its breath, time and distance were distorted by the acid so that he bridged the gap between them as if in an instant…She was just getting up when she felt large, strong hands encase her, helping her to stand. She smelled the ocean breeze and the tradewinds in his hair, intermingled with an alluring manly scent; she felt the golden rays of light emanating from his blue eyes. Eyes that were as blue as bluebirds flying over the mountains; blue like the limitless sky above them. Her mouth and face felt numb, her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, barring her speech. “Are you allright?” the tall stranger asked with genuine concern, in an accent that almost caused her absurd giggles to return. She had to bite the tip of her tongue so as to ground herself in the moment and not fly away like a hot air balloon or a feather in the wind. She heard herself, a disembodied voice miles away, replying “Yea, Im fine!” and before she could censor herself, blurted out, “I’m just tripping - Hard. From a purple microdot I did earlier…” she added, with a telltale giggle. “Ahh, I thought as much!” he said in a bright, melodious voice and timbre, as he stifled his own laughter, blue eyes sparkling mischievously like diamonds and sapphires. Holy Shit!, a voice shouted in her brain, This guy is good looking!! And that IS a dimple on his cheek! Her eyes glided over his face and body, surveying his strong chin, the broad shoulders, and toned torso that tapered to a slim waist. Further down, she couldn’t help but notice his bulging crotch - his jeans bursting at the seams in the best way… it was unmistakable, evoking within her a primal longing as old as time; a yearning to feel his body and his hardening manhood pressed against her… “Get a grip,” she admonished herself. Her mind registered all of these impressions in a split second, and the moment was suspended in the stillness of time. When she met his gaze, a lopsided smirk deepened his dimple. Her perusal of his body had not gone unnoticed. In fact, he seemed to be amused by it and amused by her embarrassment at having been caught! She realized they were still hand in hand but that it was she who had sustained the contact far longer than was necessary. Hurriedly, she released her hold, continuing the movement in one fluid motion as she brushed the gritty sand off her cutoffs…God, she was acting like a complete spazz, and the acid wasn’t helping matters one bit. In those moments, it was his turn to survey the landscape of her body, the tanned skin, the swelling of her breasts, her perky nipples that protruded proudly…the small waist and curve of her hips. She would fit right in my hands, he thought, her soft flesh would be the warmth of hearth and home after a long voyage; her full lips like the petals of a velvety rose. He felt a stirring in his loins, the tell tale hardening of his cock beneath the denim. Good God, she was beautiful! He wanted nothing more at that moment than for her to lay down in sweet surrender as her long black wavy hair spilled all around her… Snapping out of his carnal revery, he realized he was standing there like a fool, smirking at this gem of a girl. To fill the charged silence between them, he said. “I’m Robert…and who might you be?” “I’m Maggie,” she replied as she looked up at him. He had to be at least a foot taller, and she found that incredibly attractive. She immediately envisioned him being her shelter against the storms, keeping her safe and warm. “Pleasure to meet you…Maggie.” he savored the taste of her name on his tongue and hoped that by the end of the night he’d be tasting a lot more. “May I ask, where are you from Robert? I detect an accent and I’m sure I haven’t seen you around these parts before… I would remember that,” she said, meeting his steady gaze. Was that the tip of his tongue flicking out and licking his lips?! Lord have mercy, She sensed he was just as attracted to her as she was to him, for his eyes traveled up and down her frame, pausing at certain points of interest. He smiled at her, his tongue back in place, “Of course, darlin’… ask away, I’m an open book!” “Well, then, answer my question, Mr. Open Book… “ she stated as she looked up at him, “or better yet, let me guess!!” she added excitedly. Her exuberance was contagious! “You’re ….Australian, am I right?! “ “Guess again..” he said as he began to walk, not toward the group, but away from it toward the shore. As she joined him, she remained quiet for a second, studying him intently, then suddenly stopped in her tracks and practically shouted, “Wait a minute, I got it! You’re from England?” “Yes, I am actually! Just in Florida for a few gigs. My band is playing at Tugboat Annie’s on Thursday and Friday, before we have to head back to England Saturday afternoon. Would love to see you there if you can make it.” “That depends,” she answered coyly. “Depends on what?” he queried, grinning from ear to ear. “On what happens tonight,” she answered, uncensored once again by the acid, feeling wild and carefree as she took a step closer to him. “And what do you want to happen tonight… pray tell.” She looked into his eyes and answered his question by going up to him and kissing his cheek, right on that irresistible dimple, then she brushed her lips against his and pulled away. He smelled even better up close, and she was filled with desire for him, this perfect stranger who had walked out of the shadows. “I like a girl who knows what she wants,” he replied, encircling her waist with his large hands and reeling her in. “You do?” she replied pushing up against his growing erection. Good God, she was liking this turn of events for sure. “Well, it’s easy for me to know what I want right now” she continued “you’ve got the most amazing, positive vibe. I could tell from the minute I saw you that there was something special about you… something different.” “Oh Yea? That may be the acid talking..although I won’t argue with it” he answered, laughing as he pulled a joint out of his pocket and placed it between his lips, lighting it with his Bic. He inhaled deeply, blew out the smoke and passed it to her as they continued walking down the beach, to a cluster of large rocks that protruded out into the ocean. The locals called this section of the beach “the Jetties.” “So, tell me about yourself, Maggie,” he said to her. “You know where I’m from but I don’t know anything about you…” “Well what do you wanna know?” she replied. “That’s such a broad question.” “For starters, I want to know if that’s a tan or if you were born with such luscious brown skin?” he ventured as he took in the contrast against the white of her top. “Oh, you and your silver tongue,” she rolled her eyes at him but inside she was loving it. “I’m Dominican but I grew up in Puerto Rico…family came over here when I was 10 and we’ve been here ever since” “Really? And do you still speak Spanish?” his eyes expressed genuine interest. She was used to guys playing that game but Robert seemed so authentic. “Actually, I do! My family speaks only Spanish at home.” “So you’re fluent are you?” he exclaimed. “We could have used you last night in Calle Ocho! We almost got ourselves arrested!” he laughed and passed the joint to her which she declined this time. No need pushing her buzz to the max, she needed to be sharp, or at least coherent. They reached the jutting rock formation where the waves incessantly pounded the boulders, spraying salt water everywhere. Droplets came to rest on Robert’s golden curls as well as his arms, and he glistened under the moonlight, his skin almost translucent. In her heightened state, colors seemed more vibrant. “Wanna go up there?” he asked. Mesmerized by the silvery sheen off the moon in his eyes, she nodded absently. “Wait here then, I don’t want you to slip and fall”. As he made his way upwards, she stood on the sand, admiring the view from below. When he had reached the top, he stretched his arm so she could grasp it. She felt his strength as he effortlessly lifted her and set her down beside him. He took her by the hand, leading her to a relatively dry patch. His damp shirt clung to his body and revealed the musculature of his shoulders and back. He’s absolutely beautiful, she thought. She was overwhelmed with the force of his presence as she sat down on the cold hard surface next to him. The smooth rock was not at all welcoming and she looked and felt uncomfortable. He patted his lap, gesturing for her to sit on it, as the joint dangled jauntily from the side of his mouth. What are you getting yourself into?... she thought of Steve, her old man, back at the Bahia Mar, but that wasn’t enough to deter her from the irresistible urge to climb onto Robert’s warm and ample lap. Maggie usually had no trouble striking up a conversation and keeping it going, even with a perfect stranger. With the purple microdot buzzing through her system, she was even more social, more talkative, uninhibited, and carefree. Robert’s sensual and friendly vibe encouraged her natural inclination and she found herself telling him all kinds of things about herself and about having to move from the islands to the United States. He, too, was a great conversationalist, usually interjecting his goofy sense of humor but also listening quietly to her as well. They talked of family, of the U.K,, of his music and his dream to be a singer. As he watched the waves crashing on the rocks around them, he told of his experiences playing the circuit of pubs and bars in the Black Country, where he was from. Recently, his parents had thrown him out of the house, and he was a gypsy, traveling wherever the band was scheduled to play. “That’s too bad about your parents… Does the constant moving from town to town get old after a while?,” Maggie ventured, “There’s a lot to be said about traveling and exploring the world, but to me, there’s no place like home.” “I get it! It’s not that I don’t want to be settled, it’s that I don’t have any interest whatsoever in becoming an accountant and doing people’s taxes for the rest of my life” he groaned. “life’s too short and I’ve got to feel passion about what I’m doing, I’ve got to get off on it, y’know?” he looked up at the silvery moon and stars, gesturing dramatically with his hands he added “Music’s where it’s at for me, Maggie, I live for that…and moments like this when I meet someone I truly click with. It’s cosmic energy at work!” “ Oh my God! “, Maggie exclaimed, “I believe in cosmic energy too! The idea that we are interconnected, that there is something mystical at work in our lives. Like tonight, we are aligned with it!! Can’t you feel it?” “Yes, I can feel it too. But I need more” he answered, leaning in for a kiss which she gave back somewhat distractedly. Her hyperactive mind was full of thoughts, impressions, and random ideas, one of which was the need to hear him sing. “Will you sing me one of your songs…please?” she asked him, in between playful kisses, eager to ascertain for herself if he had talent. He shook his head, his curls bouncing to and fro, and told her she would have to wait till he played Madison Square Garden. She playfully punched him in the arm, saying, “Mean man, I want to hear you sing to me.” Something about the way she looked at him and pouted erased all trepidation and suddenly, in almost a whisper, his voice dropped an octave and he began to sing the blues. It was from a song he and his band recorded just prior to coming to Florida. “I’ve been all around the world, Lord I gotta find my baby ; Yes, I’m going all around the world Yea, I gotta find baby Please mama Please, have you seen my sweet baby ; Oh I’m gonna lose my mind oooh, if I don’t find my baby” She knew she was done for. His voice was …she could not put words to it… his voice did things to her. How he climbed octaves effortlessly, sang with such feeling and passion. He was simply irresistible. Steve was but a distant memory as she adjusted her body to be closer to him, purposely grinding her ass closer to his obviously growing erection. Suddenly a wave pounded on the rocks below, drenching them in an instant and interrupting their moment. They yelped in unison, jumped up and quickly but carefully made their way off the slippery rocks onto the sandy beach below. Dripping wet, they scampered toward the boardwalk, slowing as they spotted a lifeguard tower not too far ahead. They both looked at each other. “Robert! Let’s go there. We can sit on the ramp while we dry off, and you can serenade me.” she teased him as she led him by the hand in the direction of the tower… To be continued with NSFW :D

#Robert fan fic #fanfic #as yet untitled #thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it #thanks @firethatgrewsolow and @brownskinsugarplum76 #led zeppelin #classic rock #part 2 #chapter 2

[iphoenixrising]

I was thinking about the Titans working with the Avengers Kon and Bart still a little ticked at how Tim was treated brag about how fast Tim bonded with the Avengers. How Tony is seconds away from adopting Tim. How Bucky and Tim have come so close that he is in agreement with Tony to kidnap their new son. How they had to drag Tim out of Tony's lab where he and Peter were playing with DUM-E. To add insult Cass shows up and says how happy Tim is. Dick & Jason are off to get their baby bird back.

Hi babe.

WELP. This is not exactly what you were thinking of, but dammit. Dammit. Angst, you know?

But I mean, I really do enjoy two things: Tony Stark taking Tim in the Tower so they can literally wreck ALL the things; also, the Bats realizing the absolute fuckery of how Tim pretty much got booted out of the role as Robin, then running elbows over assholes trying to get him back and make up for it.

So, I kind of thought it might start out like this maybe...

**

“How do we look, Tin Man?”

“We look fantastic as always, Klondike. Sexy is our aesthetic. See anything from your perch?”

“You know what I’m looking at, Tones.” The Winter Soldier only partly means the view in Gotham.

And yes, Iron Man already has JARVIS focused on the two vigilantes walking around their Robin’s penthouse apartment. He knew letting Tim come back to Gotham was a bad idea, but dammit Steve had been adamant, saying they shouldn’t try to sway the kid.

“He needs to make his own decisions, Tony. We want him to come back because he wants to, not because we’re pressuring him, right?”

Tony and Buck had immediately called bullshit, but couldn’t argue when Tim himself, old backpack and worn hoodie, no mask over his eyes or utility belt around his hips, just a 19 year old kid that looked so much younger, so timid, so broken without his alter ego.

“It’s time for me to go back,” he’d said quietly to the gathered Avengers, a whole different kid without the mask. “I just wanted to say good-bye.”

His eyes are violet-blue and soft when he looks around at them, seemingly satisfied he’d single-handedly brought the team back together after the shit show that was Civil War. He can leave now since the mission he’d set out to do is accomplished, and is apparent since they’re all gathered in New York City once again, leaving the Compound for the new incarnation of SHIELD with Fury at the helm, pretty much infiltrating the Tower to start the road back to becoming the family they used to be.

(And God is it crazy, fighting and living together with the insanity that is their lives.)

It started with a broken metal arm, alien invasions, and a plate of superior nachos.

It ended up with the team saving each other’s asses, coming to an understanding, fighting it out, then crying it out.

It ended with Wanda sobbing in Tony’s chest while his arms around her are almost as tight as Peitro’s once were, with Steve red-eyed on Tony’s other side, whispering in his hair how never again – together means together, with Bucky’s forehead against the back of his neck and tears streaming down his face, with Bruce and Nat holding hands while their legs tangled with Tony’s, Steve’s, and Vision’s, with Sam laughing at them all while he’s wiping his eyes, with the whole group literally jumping on Thor the minute he touches down with the new haircut and air of perpetual weariness, with them taking up a big table in their favorite 24-hour diner feeding each other and telling stories about what they’ve all been up to since that awful thing at the airport.  

Red Robin’s run with them started with fractured friendships and ends with them tripping all over each other during meals and movie nights. Bruce’s curry, Nat’s homemade dressing for the salad, Thor dipping in to snatch bites from everyone’s contribution. But this time around, it’s Sam and Wanda chopping vegetables while Bucky directs a sleepy Tony to a barstool close but out of the traffic, turning around to let the mechanic tie up his hair for him before he joins the cooking fiasco.

A week after they all move back in, he feels good leaving them with the rooms in the living quarters of Avengers Tower full of light and voices and warmth, just like it should have been. He’s giving himself a million vigilante points for this one – even if he’s going back out with no team and no safety net. It’s fine. He’s fine. He can’t stay forever anyway.

Besides, Kon and Bart have been trying to find him again, so it’s time to move on before they get too close. And really, he’s got no other excuses to stay. Bucky’s arm is maintained regularly, the broken team is working and the Accords (thankfully had been attacked on more than one side, thanks to big industries like WE and Queen, Inc. alongside Stark Industries) are modified to protect superheroes rather than stop them from doing what they do best.

All-in-all, he’d say the mission has been a success.

“Tim,” and the Captain moves away from Tony and Bucky’s side, one hand automatically out toward him, “you absolutely don’t have to go.”

“I appreciate the offer,” and he clears his suddenly tight throat, making sure the hood and too-long hair obscure his face. “But, it’s time.”

It only takes a glance back at the full team crowded around the communal floor television while the four player Mario Kart game stays on pause. The faces full of devastation make the message clear enough. With a decisive nod at the silent statement going through the team, Steve turns back to try arguing, the teenager is just–

–gone.

Tony, however, can’t shake the feeling of wrongness in the abrupt departure, and absolutely starts tracking the second he can pull away from the team to set-up protocols to trace the steps of their vigilante.

He listened to Steve’s half-hearted, “you know we can’t interfere with the Justice League, Tony. And Batman? Gotham is his territory. We go there, and there’s no guarantee we’ll be making it out if we even get past city limits.”

“Those guys might have the whole city wired with traps,” Natasha grudgingly admits. “Everyone knows the capes are unpredictable and terrifying. We should at least go through proper channels to get permission. Even if he’s still–”

“Oracle has nothing on me,” Tony’s eyes are all for the blipping red dot on his floating holo-screen.

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance behind Tony’s back, eyes meeting with a silent message. Bucky smirks and slides the muzzle up his face. Steve briskly turns on a heel and leaves the workshop with a plan already forming on how he’s going to run interference with the JLA so Tony and Bucky could sneak into Gotham without making a fuss.  

Bucky strides the opposite way, hand on Tony’s bicep, leaning in to talk low, “tell me ya got something more stealthy than red n’ gold, Doll. That or yer gonna play my Oracle, and get me in the kid’s penthouse from somewhere safe n’ sound.”

“Oh hell no. You’re not going anywhere without me. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve, Buckeroo, and it’s going to get us an audience with our disappearing vigilante.”

Tony’s satisfied grin makes him look adorable enough that Bucky has to literally bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from kissing (their) the engineer until he begs.

(Not like this. Steve had to be there when they were finally ready to tell Tony how they felt about him. Soon, they’d agreed last night after finding the exhausted mechanic asleep on the kitchen table with a tablet clutched in his hand and could finally admit to themselves how much he made them want.)

“I’ll bite. What d’ya got?”

“Just a little something super waiting in the wings. JJ, fire up the Quinjet. We’ve got a Robin to visit.”

With the Winter Soldier watching the two vigilantes facing Tim through his scope, Tony stands on a closer rooftop with the very new, very nice stealth armor, recording the footage of Nightwing and the Red Hood. His blood heats when it looks like they’re yelling at Red Robin while the younger is obviously bandaging himself up after a bad run-in.

And they’re not even helping him for fuck’s sake.

“Wow, that’s cold,” Bucky says softly while the comm in their ears are giving them the whole conversation. Something about Tim taking on a guy named Bane by himself. Seems to Buck like the kid took the asshole down, so the ass-chewing the other vigilantes are handing him seems to be pretty fucking ungrateful.

“They don’t deserve him. We have more sciency things for him to do. Crime fighting is always fun, but why not build amazing shit in-between?”

“Aw, c’mon Tones. Gotta let ‘im outta the lab so’s we can spar. Kid’s always got tricks. Makes fer some fun.”

“I know that’s why you like him so much, Barnes.”

“What, like I ain’t seen you fightin’ outside the suit before?”

“I’m not teenage vigilante kind of street-smart. I will punch the hell out of you, make some nifty explosions, re-configure your systems...oh.”

“Finally gettin’ it are ya?” And he can’t help it when his tone drops a little, watching Nightwing’s arms flail. “S’why I like ‘im. Reminds me of you, Doll.”

“...you might actually make me blush, Soldier. How novel.”

“If it helps, Steve never believed ya were just a guy in a suit. Not from the moment he met ya.”

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“Like I ain’t hung out with ya the past few months? I know how ya think, Stark, and ya ain’t just the armor.”

“Sure, sure. In all actuality, I’m the most well-paid consultant that ever lived.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes flicker over where the Mark XXI is ducked in the shadows, jaw clenching because Tony’s odd self-deprecating tendencies bothers him just as much as it bothers Stevie. At some point, they’re going to address it with Tony, face-to-face. Not now, but that day is going to come, so help him.

In the meantime, Bucky tunes back in on the conversation happening inside, flips the safety on his rifle, and starts moving closer to Tony’s roof since they might not even need Plan B after all.

“What does that even mean, Timmy?”

“Calm it down, Big Wing. Pretender, look–”

“Do you see a fucking R on my chest, Hood?” And even from where he’s trucking over rooftops, Bucky can see the tension in Tim’s spine, the fast, angry movements as he tapes gauze pads to obviously fresh stitches. “I’m not ‘pretending’ fuck anymore. So how about you fuck off with that ‘Pretender’ shit.”

“...all right. That’s fair, so my bad. But lookit, B is all about ya coming ta the yearlies, you feel me?”

“What part of ‘it’s not my place’ isn’t clear here?”

The sigh from Nightwing is loud enough to hear it over the microphone Tony planted when they touched down.

“You have got to get over this thing,Tim. Dami’s been Robin for–”

“That’s what you think? That I’m fucking jealous, Dick?”

“He was a kid. He’s not still crying about the past–”

“Get. The Fuck. Out.”

The quiet calm of Tim’s tone is enough to make Bucky pause, and the sleek black Iron Man armor to step out of the shadows.

“I’m serious Tim! Listen–”

“I’m done. Done with you, done with the Bats, I’m fucking done. So do us both a favor and forget you were ever here.”

Nightwing flinches, his shoulders and back getting tight by the time Bucky is beside Iron Man, frowning behind the muzzle.

“I think we’ve heard about enough,” is distorted but still so Tony through the suit’s synthesizers. “Want a ride, Red Dawn? We can show up and be the likeable ones for once.”

“Really, Iron Man? I thought only Cap got special rides.”

“Well, I will always make an exception for my Bucky Bear, you know,” and he wiggles an arm, sighs a little as the Winter Soldier steps up against the suit, stepping up on to the rocket boots.

Having Bucky against him is something he can keep locked in the secret file in his brain he pulls up when he has bad days. Things like Steve hugging him, trips to the ball field, Bucky hanging out with him in the workshop while Steve drew or read or did paperwork on his tablet.

(Things he can never have. Sure, he can want, but he can’t let it get too real. Locking it away is safer for everyone.)

Knocking on the door of Tim’s balcony, shaking up the Bats, is really much more satisfying than Tony would have thought ten seconds ago.

He knows Tim is shocked, had probably been expected the big, bad Bat at his door rather than two Avengers waiting for entrance.

In his black and gold stealth armor, Tony waves metal fingers when the curtains pull back and Tim’s mouth drops open on the other side.

The door is wrenched open, and they can both hear, “we ain’t done here, Tim,” from inside, but Tim absolutely ignores it to stare wide-eyed at Iron Man and the Winter Soldier just, you know, hanging out on his balcony of all the fucking places.

“Tony. Bucky, what the hell–”

“Leave you alone for a few minutes, and you’re all kinds of hurt. Why am I not shocked? Winter Wonderland, are you shocked?” Tony gives no shits about interrupting this cute little family get-together and absolutely pushes his way in to Tim’s penthouse without a fuck to give.

As normal, Bucky is more of a doer than a talker when he’s in the mask, so Tony gets to watch him do that incredibly sexy murder strut right over the threshhold and grab a hold of Tim’s elbow. He snickers at the older vigilantes obviously gawking as the Winter Soldier pushes the third Robin down in a seat at his kitchen table right by the open first-aid kit.

“Zadnitsa,” the Winter soldier snarls in rebuke, already digging out more gauze pads.

“I missed you too, Frosty,” Tim shoots back, obliging the dangerous assassin by holding still while the gauze pads are taped down and more alcohol wipes are used to disinfect a serious slice on Tim’s shoulder blade.

Honestly, Tony has no idea how he even managed to stitch it himself, but the helmet swings over to the two surprised vigilantes.

“This sure as hell ain’t a good way to show it, y’know,” Bucky pulls the goggles off but leaves the mask, metal arm moving seamlessly while he gently pats the remaining slice with disinfectant.  

“Well, I didn’t expect you two to just drop in or anything. Or else, I might have a nice psycho for you to take down.”

“Well, shows you, don’t it?”

“I guess so. But I do have a bag full of plums in the fridge, so you’re in luck.”

“Hell yeah, Red.”

The faceplate of the helmet kicks up and Tony is grinning beneath it, “aww, plums for our favorite murder bot? What about coffee for your best engineer friend–”

Bucky pauses abruptly, and Tony sees the movement, a soft sigh of sound, but only just. The knife as long as his forearm is just suddenly out, metal hand on Tim’s good shoulder, holding him down, some automatic instinct to protect the kid makes Tony bite the inside of his cheek so he isn’t smiling.

The other vigilantes, however, are really intimidated in their own right since Red Hood has twin .45s in his gloved hands and Nightwing’s escrima sticks spark a few times for good measure.

“Tim, get up slowly and step back,” Nightwing’s voice is just this side of dangerous.

“We gotcha back, Tim, you feel me?” Hood’s thumbs flick the safety, a whole lot of not fuckin’ around happening right here.

“Do me a personal favor,” the unmasked vigilante deadpans, “and go fuck yourselves.” Tim wiggles out from under the hold on his shoulder and stands, gingerly puts a hand on Bucky’s brandishing the knife. He waits for those blue-gray eyes to slide over to him.

“C’mon, Bucky,” Tim tries to cajole softly, “these guys aren’t a threat. The knife is very nice. Is it new? You know I like to look at new weapons, but you can put it away. Promise.”

“Malyutka,” is a question more than a statement.

Tim huffs in annoyance because honestly, he’s not a kid.  (Welp, take into account, 100+ year old assassin, and maybe he can see the point.)

“My apartment, my rules, and if anyone, anyone,” he stresses, glaring at the two tense vigilantes, “gets blood on my floors or walls, then it’s fucking on. Everyone get that?”

“You’ll have to forgive us for being jumpy,” Nightwing deadpans, “we have a tendency to treat legendary assassins with immediate attention when one’s in our city, right Hood?”

The stiff angle of the guns doesn’t waver, nor does the helmet move. “Gotta say,” Hood’s voice is deep, even with the synths, “always thought this might go down different if our paths ever crossed again, Soldier.”

From behind the muzzle, Bucky’s teeth flash white, a terrifying smile, “last time my Handler wouldn’t let me kill you, Red Hood. Wanna to give it a go now that I don’t have one?”

“Sounds like a fucking party to me, sweetheart. Ya gimmie a time n’ I’ll bring the motherfuckin’ confetti.”

“Any. Fuckin’. Time–”

“As entertaining as this is,” Tony interjects, the soft haaa when the armor opens up to let him step out, “our host absolutely said no blood, right boys?”

Slowly, weapons lower, but the tension is high in the room, only broken when Bucky points a gloved finger back to the chair Tim was previously in.

(And during the time Tim had spent with the Avengers, none of them knew the Winter Soldier and Red Hood had met before. He’s going to want some details on that little scuffle.)

“Thank-you. I’m glad good manners are winning out over bullshit posturing,” and Tony pours on his media smile, giving Nightwing and the Red Hood something else to look at while Bucky gently finishes up with their vigilante. “Because really. We’re literally all on the same side here. We just happen to go through legal channels to beat the shit out of bad guys. Not as much fun, but you can’t beat the tax breaks.”

“Mmhm, I’m really hoping you aren’t in Gotham as Iron Man, Mr. Stark. You know there are rules about being in this city.”

And Tony would bet his entire fortune Nightwing has a listening device somewhere in that ridiculously tight suit for the Dark Knight to monitor what’s happening in Red Robin’s apartment right this moment.

(Especially the fact they know his civilian identity and are comfortable enough calling him by his real name. They probably aren’t going to be on any Justice League party invites for a while after this. He wonders how Steve is doing with Superman and Wonder Woman right about now.)

“I asked them to come,” Tim interjects, not bothering to glance at either vigilante, “they’re here to help me with a case. My lead is a dead-end, so we’re all going to be out of Gotham as soon as fucking possible. The Batman will have to deal with it.”

Tony hums, crosses his arms over his chest. He meets Bucky’s quick glance, quirks a grin since maybe they could convince him to come to New York instead. Or, if his Plan B is still waiting in the wings, they could do something altogether different.

(There’s a whole floor available in the Tower, and wouldn’t that be some incentive for Tim to get it together and land somewhere more permanent?)

“Tim…” and the wealth of warning there isn’t enough to earn Nightwing the youngest vigilante’s attention after the last gauze pad goes on.

But the youngest of the vigilantes stands from his chair, turns to give them the same fuck you and the zip line you rode in on attitude, “don’t fucking even with me, N.”

“You can’t come to the yearly gathering for one night, but you can pal around with the Avengers?”

And oh! Is that jealousy he hears? Tony has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking because wow, Nightwing does not sound very happy.

“It’s none of your fucking business–” and that tension is back in the square of Tim’s bare shoulders, the flex of his forearms.

Tony easily picks up his discarded nerd shirt, pointedly steps between him and the glowering vigilantes, shoves the shirt over the kid’s head and ignores his sputtering.

“I’m sure nothing that would interest you,” Tony makes a point to stay between the two groups, “I mean, you don’t work with Red Robin anymore, right? So he’s a free agent. Believe me, he’s been super helpful with us in New York, I don’t know if we'd all be in the same room without him.”

Tony is being absolutely innocent about it, letting Tim shove his arms in the right places while he grins at the obviously unhappy vigilantes over his shoulder.

The glare Tim levels at him would have probably withered anyone else. Good thing Tony has very, very little shame, and between him and Steve, the best troll in the Avengers award is still undecided. This might just put him over the top. He doesn’t need Bucky to remove his mask to know there’s a smirk underneath.

“I’m sorry, what now?” The whiteouts swing from Tim to Tony, “since when don’t we work together? We only have since you were twelve–”

“And we haven’t since your Robin kicked me the fuck out of my home. I’ve been out of the Cave, out of this city, and out of your life since then, so don’t come here with some attitude about it.” Tim’s eyes slide to the Red Hood. “You two coming here to ask me about the yearlies? Like I’ve been there for the last three? Like I haven’t come back unless someone called me in because, let’s face it, I’m just another body to fight the good fight, right? So this? Acting like I’m just going to forgive and forget? You can both absolutely go fuck yourselves.”

And some tiny part of Tony feels utterly proud in that moment, feels somewhat vindicated at how cold and calm Tim is, how he’s just laying it all out on the table, no bullshit, no contingencies, no taking the high road, no giving in, and it’s so much the Tim he knows, squaring his shoulders and facing both older vigilantes with anger so cold it burns.

“I–I mean, Tim–”

“There is literally nothing you could say right now that I’d want to hear, Nightwing. Nothing. All those years of fighting together, of being partners? I never would have guessed you’d be the one to stab me in the back, but I guarantee you won’t get another chance.”

But, the night gets that much better when Nightwing and the Red Hood gives them the death glare of doom before Tim pretty much kicks them out of his apartment.

Tony isn’t cheering out loud, but wow does he want to.

“Timmy,” Nightwing gives it one last, desperate try, turning at an impossible angle with one leg out the window to face the de-masked vigilante, tone low and serious.

“You’re a few years too late, Nightwing. Now get the fuck out.”

Tim had flicked his hand out behind him, a flat palm telling Tony and Bucky to stay back when he pretty much forced both vigilantes out of his apartment with a sneer of disdain and a promise to set his security protocols to shock the utter fuck out of them if they ever tried to come back to his last hold-over in Gotham. By the way the Red Hood stood shock still, and Nightwing’s frown deepened, they apparently believed him.

While Tim shuts the windows, locking them with finality, Bucky finally pulls off his muzzle and goggles, exchanges a worried glance with Tony when he realizes Tim’s hands are shaking.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Is soft but firm, is obvious Tim is trying to put himself back together.

“Well, as I said earlier–”

“Don’t bullshit me, Tony. There’s no case.”

With how empty and cold Tim sounds, how his hands are fisted at his sides, the tremble going through him, Tony pauses to take in the rest of the signs. He catches Bucky’s eyes and makes an executive decision.

Plan B it is.

“Okay, you’re right. No case. But, what I do have for you is more interesting and important than a case right now. Meaning, I still need your help with it.”

And when the kid finally turns to face him, face them, Tony can see the effects of dealing with Nightwing and the Red Hood in the clench of Tim’s jaw and the way he won’t really meet Tony’s eyes. A distraction is exactly what he needs, a reason to get the hell out of this city before he drowns in his own misery.

Instead, Tony turns his head toward a window, “all right, kid. Time to make your dramatic entrance!”

The super speed never gets old.

Not to mention the fact, Superboy is absolutely adorable when he’s just suddenly there, grabbing Tim around the waist and hugging him a little desperately.

“Oh my God, Kon?!”

Blue eyes blown wide, Tim’s eyes go from the meta-human wrapped around him to Tony’s soft smile to Bucky’s gentle smirk.

“Tim, Tim I can’t– I just! I...I missed you so much, Tim. We all missed you so much,” and Kon-El’s voice is barely a croak, heavy and thick with emotion, his face buried in the side of Tim’s throat, his back hunched over the smaller vigilante. “I needed to see you. Sorry about this, but...I’m not really.”

Like muscle memory, Tim’s brings a hand to the back of his best friend’s neck, making small circles against the tight tendons with his finger tips, still looking more shocked than pissed.

Tony is absolutely going to take it as a win.

**zadnitsa means ass or asshole kind of. Thanks Google Translate :D

#crossover au #tim drake #tony stark #bucky barnes #steve rogers #jason todd #dick grayson #conner kent #winter answers #yet another drabble #my drabble #my writing

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 21 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 6.7k

------------

Maya is pouting.

She’s been waiting for tonight for over 48 hours. He’s been busy at the shop and she tells herself it’s probably better because if they spend all their time together, they’re going to fall back into their summer lust without any kind of real foundation for a relationship. 

So busy is good. She’s gotten to start work on another piece -- it’s a little darker, a bleak memory of lying tangled in her sheets in Manhattan unable to sleep because she’s been amped up on Adderall all day. It’s cathartic, though. Artistic release at long last.

She stares out her window in her paint shirt and now signature Daisy Dukes, head cocked, squinting out at the thunderstorm rolling in off the sea. She and Shawn were going to the food truck night in the next town over but the fat raindrops plunking on her weatherproofed deck are telling her to make other plans.

She lifts her phone to text him.

Maya: hi :) mother nature has no mercy. Want to come do movies and food at my place? We can watch the storm come in

Shawn: you mean you don’t want to eat street food in the pouring rain with me? :( 

Maya: you mean you don’t want to come snuggle and watch movies with me?

Shawn: i always want to do my two favorite things with you

Shawn: what’re u thinking for food?

Shawn: i can pick up

Maya: sushi pls! That place on great st. with the funny name? They have that mt. fuji roll

Shawn: mt. fuji, extra gyoza, and the fancy tuna sashimi 

Shawn: dessert?

Maya definitely does not even for a second think about texting him “me.”

Maya: I got bored yesterday and walked down to Russell’s Candy Shoppe on main and got cute vintage penny candy

Shawn: you’re sweet

Shawn: but im gonna need more than penny candy to have a proper dessert

Maya: then by all means grab some mochi while you’re there

Shawn: can i tell you a secret?

Maya: always

Shawn: i’m definitely gonna pick up one of those in-house ice cream cakes from the corner market  

Maya moans a little at reading his text.

Maya: omg bring it on, baby

Shawn: i’ll text u when im on my way, sugar

Maya feels better about their plans now. She thinks she likes these better. A crack of thunder sounds distantly as she climbs the stairs. The power flickers when she’s in the shower rinsing off and her heart throbs hard in her chest. Sometimes it occurs to her how alone she is in this house and it gets to her.

She changes into clingy leggings and a cozy-cute hoodie from the Roxy catalog and by the time she gets back downstairs to light some candles, not too many because she doesn’t want to set “a mood,” it’s absolutely pouring. She hurries to find her garage door opener so she can leave it open for him and he doesn’t have to get drenched walking into the house.

Because that would be just an excuse for him to take his clothes off. Which they don’t need right now.

Shawn manages to stay mostly dry on his venture for food and ice cream cake. He’s got his slicker on and an umbrella in the back, but he’s thankful to see Maya’s garage door open when he pulls into her driveway. 

He parks, shedding his raincoat before getting out of the Jeep. He navigates the food from the backseat, giving himself a free hand to knock on the door with. 

He’s still not sure where they stand on him using her spare keys and letting himself in. He thinks he likes it better this way, for now at least. He likes the anticipation. He thinks it makes their time together that much sweeter. 

Maya has her fingers wrapped around a wide-bowled glass of red and it’s halfway to her lips when she hears him knock. She smiles and puts her glass down next to his, already poured, hurrying on her toes to reach him.

“Hey you,” she murmurs, holding the door open for him to walk through. She takes one of the bags of food he’s hauling in. She expects he’ll want to take off his jacket and shoes but she doesn’t want to wait to kiss him just once before they should probably try to keep their hands and lips mostly to themselves.

She leans in and goes for a peck on his lips but when she gets there, she lingers slightly longer than planned. She missed him. 

He almost drops the sushi when Maya kisses him. He’s not expecting it— they’ve been sticking with kisses on the cheek for greetings. It’s safer that way. 

But then he melts. Maya’s lips linger long enough for him to sigh happily against her mouth. His fingers tighten around the plastic bag handles as they begin to slip, and he only pushes back so he can catch the bottom of the bag with his hand. 

He looks from the sushi to Maya, a bit flustered as he catches his breath. 

“Hi,” he says, a grin pulling across his lips. 

“I, uh,” He chuckles to himself, shakes his head. “I missed you.” 

Maya doesn’t mean to knock him off balance but she’s a little pleased that she did. She smiles, giggling under her breath watching him scrabble to catch the sushi before he drops it. He secures his hand under the bag and smiles down at her. 

“I missed you too. I guess that’s obvious by my pouncing on you when you walked in.”

She’s not really shy about it. She wants him to know she’s been thinking about him and that she wanted him to know that as soon as he got here. He deserves to know how badly she wants him.

Shawn grins, shrugging as he brings the sushi to the kitchen counter. 

“Lucky for you, I like being pounced on,” he coos, untying the plastic knot keeping the bag closed.

She scoops up the bag with the ice cream cake and hurries it to her freezer. Despite the storm, it’s still hot out and she doesn’t want it to melt. The broad, long windows on the side of her house show the storm clouds rolling in, dark and threatening. She’s got plates and wine already set up for them and HBO up on the TV.

She looks over at him while they unpack the sushi. “Did you get a lot done at the shop?”

Maya let’s the freezer door bang shut, then helps him unload the wide variety of sushi he couldn’t help but order. He puts away enough himself, and he knows Maya always eats more sushi than she says she will. 

Shawn hums, lifting a shoulder. “I finished a couple orders, but I still haven’t started on that new bass yet. It’s so fuckin’ delicate. I want to have a day I can dedicate to it.” 

Maya nods. She knows the instrument he means, he told her about it while she was sketching him the other day. It sounds like an intricate job. She understands his desire to be as detail-oriented as possible, it’s a quality they share. She smiles a bit sheepishly.

“I guess I can share you with your shop for another day if you need me to.”

Balance is good. Slow is good. 

She smirks at the insane quantity of sushi he ordered, knowing they’ll probably end up eating it all anyway. She piles some segments from a few different rolls on a plate and points to his wine glass with a wink while strolling barefoot toward her couch to eat.

“That’s for you, hun.”

Shawn looks up at the sound of her voice, sees her pointed finger and follows it to the full glass of wine she poured when he didn’t notice. He smiles and lifts his sushi-filled plate in one hand, reaching for the wine with the other. 

“You know how to treat a guy right, don’t you?” 

He follows her to the couch, toeing off his shoes so her can settle in as comfortably as Maya does. He leans back, kicks his legs up onto the coffee table. 

“So,” he asks through a mouthful of rice, “What are we watching?” 

Shawn plops himself down next to her in a way that says her house feels at least a little like his home, too. She adjusts her position next to him, swinging her legs up to fold beside her, leaning in up against his arm while she drops a sashimi piece in her mouth. She purrs at the taste of the fresh fish.

“I narrowed it down to,” she begins, swallowing her own bite, “‘We’re the Millers’ or ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ Food picker-upper’s choice.”

It was an old tradition of theirs -- whoever brought over food could pick the movie. They almost always agreed on stuff to watch, though.

Like a snake, Shawn unhinges his jaw around a plump piece of sushi, nodding and humming as he considers the options she gives him. He hasn’t seen the former, and he’s seen the later more times than he should probably admit. 

He looks at Maya, watches the way her cheeks bulge as she pops pieces of sushi into her mouth. His lips twitch. She looks like a chipmunk, a little, her nose twitching as she chews. 

Maya glances out the windows when another loud crack sounds closer to the house. The rain pounds harder against the windows.

“Gonna have good waves tomorrow,” she murmurs, handing him the remote, reaching for another bite of sushi.

He takes the remote, deciding he’s in the mood for something new and selects We’re the Millers. Presses play and sips his wine.

“Wanna have a beach day? Or well. Half day? I should go into the shop but I can hang out in the morning.” 

Maya watches Jason Sudeikis start to round up his band of misfits, enjoying the light comedy amidst the raging storm outside. She pops another bite of sushi in her mouth and follows it with a sip of wine.

“I’d love that,” she says, eyeing him from the side, “But if you have to spend the day at the studio, I can deal.”

She smiles supportively despite how badly she wants to take him up on the offer.

Shawn nods as he chews on a piece of tuna. He knows they’re both trying to navigate between wanting to be together all the time and giving each other space. 

But they haven’t gone to the beach together since starting this take-it-slow dating thing, so he thinks a half day wouldn’t be too much. 

“I can spare a half day to have some fun in the sun with you,” he says with a grin, reaching over with his chopsticks to steal a piece of gyoza from her plate, since he forgot to take some for himself. 

Maya smacks at his chopsticks to sabotage him when he steals from her plate but the dumpling is in his mouth before she can protest.

“Rude,” she mumbles, elbowing him teasingly and scooting just a touch closer.

He’s warm and firm and smells a little woody. She doesn’t make a show of snuggling up to him, but she does unfold her legs and cross them next to his noticeably.

Shawn feels Maya shift closer, so he settles back into the couch and angles himself towards her. Luckily, she sits to his left, so he can casually drape his arm along the back of the couch, behind her shoulders, while still pinching sushi between his soy sauce-stained chopsticks. 

Maya snorts a little at the TV and covers her mouth. This movie is so fucking funny -- she forgot how funny. It’s nice just to laugh with him and feel no pressure at all. The storm rages on around them. She absently hopes her studio isn’t leaking from the roof again, but she covered her pieces with dropcloths just in case.

“Jennifer Aniston is so hot,” Maya comments through a mouthful of salmon.

Shawn pauses, mid-pinch. He looks at Maya, watches her stare at Jennifer Aniston. He grins. 

“I’ve always had the worst crush on her. Did I ever tell you that?” 

He thinks he used to pretend not to have celebrity crushes because it made him lame or something. Or because he didn’t want Maya thinking he was a gross jerk, or something. Or probably because he didn’t want to say anything to make Maya think he wasn’t completely gone for her. 

Probably a combo of all three. The reasons feel silly now. 

Maya chuckles and leans into his arm a little, welcoming him to stay close to her. She shakes her head and daubs some wasabi on a firecracker roll for an extra punch. She shrugs.

“No, but it doesn’t shock me. All straight guys are obsessed with her. Understandably.”

Now that she’s thinking about it, she doesn’t really know who his celebrity crushes are. They never used to talk about that stuff, like they were afraid to acknowledge that they’d ever found anyone else attractive.

She angles herself toward him and quirks an eyebrow. “Who else, then? Spill the tea. Or whatever kids say now.”

Shawn’s got a mouthful of tuna and feeling cornered by the question. He chews and swallows and looks down at his plate as his shoulders lift in a small shrug. 

“I dunno,” he laughs. He actually hasn’t thought about a celebrity crush in years. He’s been focused on work, and the only woman he ever thought about was Maya, when he was feeling self-indulgent enough to let himself. 

He chews through a piece of salmon, glancing at her.

“Okay, actually. I do know,” he sighs, shaking his head and looking back to the TV. He smiles. “Amy Adams. Especially as Lois Lane.”

Maya laughs, delighted. “Of course! She’s totally got that wholesome-hot thing going on. That makes a lot of sense for you, actually.”

Maya glances out the window, considering it. She doesn’t, naturally, love the vision of Shawn and Amy Adams but she can see they’d look good together. Of course they would.

She hums low in her throat and bites down on her last piece of sushi, a slice of perfect toro sashimi.

“Amy Adams is gorgeous,” she admits. She’s gorgeous in a very different way than Maya is. She knows that. She thinks given the choice, Shawn would probably still choose Maya. That makes her smile.

“I think my number one celebrity crush is Mila Kunis, which is the most frat-bro answer ever.”

Shawn laughs. Everyone loves Mila Kunis, so he’s not surprised, just like she wasn’t surprised about Aniston. 

He picks up another piece of sushi, swishing it around in the soy sauce on his plate. He shrugs, “Yeah, probably, but the frat-bros aren’t wrong when it comes to her. So it’s okay.” 

He pops the whole piece in his mouth, chewing greedily as he tries not to think about Maya and Mila Kunis making out. He doesn’t need to go there, not if they’re gonna keep this night PG-13.

She knew Shawn would agree about Mila. Every straight man in North America agrees about Mila. She likes that they’re talking about this kind of stuff now and not hiding it away because they’re worried about getting uncomfortable. She doesn’t even mind that they share celebrity crushes. Crushes are fun.

“Can I tell you something, though?” 

She puts her plate back on the coffee table and leans back against the warmth of his arm around the back of her couch.

She smiles up at him. “Always.”

Shawn follows Maya’s lead, lifting his plate from his lap to set it on the table. He wipes his sticky fingers on his napkin and tosses it onto the plates with the rest of their debris. When they’re both settled again, his arm casually on the back of the sofa once more, Shawn finds the words for his admission. 

“I always, like, had celebrity crushes, I guess, but. I don’t know. I never crushed on anyone as hard as I crushed on you. I only really went to that art show in college because I knew you were going to be showing pieces and I wanted to see them, and see if I could catch a glimpse of you, too.” 

He’s never admitted that to her. He always felt weird about it, before. Now it feels silly. He was a boy with a crush, not some creep. Well, he hopes Maya sees it that way, at least. He glances at her, lips pressed together as his heart rattles in a cage. 

What a reckless thing to admit. Oh, well. He wanted her to know. He thinks she deserves the truth. 

Maya doesn’t mean to laugh, exactly. She’s not laughing at him. She’s laughing because she’d never guess that hearing something like this from him now would have her quite so smitten and bashful. It’s 15 years ago, this night he’s talking about. And he makes it sound like it was last week.

“God, I love that. I… thank you for telling me that. That’s…”

She trails off, going very pink and giggly. She’s acting more juvenile now than she did that night she met him when they were both just kids. She remembers how sweet and vulnerable he seemed then, hands in his pockets, gazing up at her pieces that she kind of hated like they were worth a fortune to him.

He doesn’t expect her to laugh. He partly expected her to be weirded out, partly expected her to maybe find it sweet. He didn’t think what he said was very funny, though. 

Shawn raises his brows. 

“You, ah, you’re welcome,” he replies, corner of his lips twitching with the urge to smile, because her laughter is infectious.

Her laughter peters out, and then she looks at him in a way he feels like she hasn’t before. Well, maybe since college. It’s a look that sears him from the inside out, had his breath catching in his throat.

She swallows. It was so long ago. But when she looks up at him now, he looks just the same, sweet and vulnerable as ever, undeterred by being unlucky in love.

She thinks his luck is changing. 

Slowly, carefully so he can stop her if he wants, she tucks a hand around the back of his neck and guides his lips to hers for a deep, perfect kiss.

Shawn goes easily when Maya pulls him close, her lips moulding to his in a way that has his heart hammering. He groans, reaching around to cup her face, tilting her head back to sweeten the kiss. 

Maya’s trying not to think about the fact that this kiss is maybe the longest they’ve shared since they rebooted their relationship. She doesn’t want to get clammy and anxious, she doesn’t want to overthink this. She wants to relax. 

Maya murmurs gently into his mouth when he holds her cheek. She lets her weight settle back, necessitating the need for him to come forward to meet her. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s going to get to keep him like this. She gently swipes her tongue into his mouth, tickling her fingers up the nape of his neck to twist and pluck at the tiny curls there that she’s missed. 

Shawn aches from the tenderness of the kiss, from the way she melts into the couch and coaxes him with her. He leans on to his hip, falling after her, his arm slipping down around her shoulders. 

Her fingers in his hair sends shivers down his spine, and he accepts her tongue eagerly with a gentle hum.

Shawn slides his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers weaving through her dark, silken curls. He breaks the kiss only to dive in again, this time sucking lazily at her lip, though lightly enough to stay away from anything too tempting.

God, he feels so fucking good. 

He purrs into her mouth and it’s gorgeous. It eggs her on. When he parts from her to suck at her lip, she whimpers and pulls her other hand up to his chest to feel him breathe. 

He feels so sturdy and stable. She wants to just hang on him by her fingers in his hair until their limbs fall asleep. She moves her hand up a little higher to massage the back of his neck as he leans over her. 

The thunder remains loud. In fact, if Maya were paying attention, she’d notice it’s the loudest it’s been. But she’s not. She’s consumed by him. 

Shawn doesn’t think they’ve ever kissed like this before. He keeps thinking that lately, that all the kisses they’ve shared in the last couple weeks are different. This is the closest to making out they’ve gotten, and it’s nothing like how they would make out in the beginning of the summer. Or when they were in college. 

She’s tender but eager, pliable but steady. She kisses him like maybe she really could fall in love with him again, and not like she’s just throwing caution to the wind for nostalgia’s sake. She’s making his stomach twist with fucking butterflies. 

She hums into his mouth this time, pulling away just slightly, “This is ok, right? This is fine?”

His lips fall to her jaw when she pulls back without warning. His eyes open, brows raising as he leans away to get a proper look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from his ministrations, but he notes a worried gleam in her eye like she thinks he really might say it’s not okay. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, maybe too eagerly, “Yes. It-- I mean, it’s totally okay with me, if it’s okay with you. Is it? Okay with you? Cause we can do something else. Anything you want.” 

Maya smiles, her eyes drifting shut. She lifts her hand from his chest to cup his cheek and exhales a little chuckle.

“Yeah. I’m-- Yeah. I missed this. I just don’t want to move too fast. I just…”

She pecks her lips to his quickly, as if to tide her over. “I don’t know how fast is too fast and how slow is too slow.”

She swallows and looks up into his beautiful brown eyes. She brushes her nose against his and continues her fingers’ calming motion through his hair.

It feels impossibly cheesy to think, but Shawn’s sure he could look into Maya’s eyes. Especially when she looks at him like that. He’s lost in that look, and in the rhythmic stroking of her fingers in his hair like he loves so much. 

His hand finds her cheek once more. He shakes his head.

“I don’t either, sugar,” he murmurs, thumb brushing across her round, pink cheek, “It’s not— well, this isn’t something I’m used to navigating. But what I do know is, I really, really enjoy kissing you.” 

He smiles, his lips brushing against hers as her does. 

Maya’s lips spark as his skim across hers. She inhales and lets herself have him, just a little more of him. She lifts her hand up higher in his hair and secures it, fingers vined in his curls, wrapping the other arm around his shoulders. 

“Then let’s keep doing that.”

“Yeah, let’s keep--”

Maya’s lips are on Shawn’s before he can finish his eager agreement. She pulls him in with small palms against broad shoulders, has him sinking further until he’s nearly pressed on top of her. 

She’s not sure where to put her hands so she keeps them confined mostly to his neck and shoulders. She gets just a little daring when she seeks out the hot skin just under the collar of his T-shirt with her sneaky fingertips. She feels under control, though. And it’s not even a little boring. 

He behaves himself, keeps an arm curled safely around her shoulders while his hand rests on her hip, high enough to remain innocent. He finds himself sucking on her lip once more, flicking it gently with his tongue before getting it between his teeth. He’s delicate with all of it, less insistent or voraciously desperate than he was only a few weeks ago. 

He finds, really, that he enjoys this much better. This is how they should’ve been kissing all along. 

Maya’s fingers find his skin and send a shiver down his spine, have his fingers curling into her hip. She leaves soft, subtle strokes along the base of his neck that shouldn’t send him reeling nearly as much as they are. He groans into her mouth, then moves his hand on her shoulder to the back of her head. He cradles her carefully while he rolls off of his hip, sitting back and pulling Maya with him. 

He goes until he’s lying on the couch, Maya relaxed on top of him as they continue to kiss lazily, as if they’ve suddenly got all the time they never had before.

Maya thinks this feels more like exploration than anything they’ve ever done together, maybe even dating back to when they first got together in college. Even then, everything was frantic, hurried, desperate. This is different.

As he teases her lips and tugs her on top of him when he lies down, Maya starts to wonder if they’ve ever just… made out. I mean, of course they have, but have they ever made out just to make out, and not because they didn’t have time to have sex? If they have, Maya doesn’t remember. Maybe they’ve always been a little bit desperate.

Maya shifts on top of him, getting comfortable. She props herself up on her forearm and lets one of her legs slot between his without getting too suggestive. She pulls up from the depth of the kiss a little, brushing the tip of her nose against his. She pecks little soft kisses on his top lip, then the bottom one, then his nose.

“This is nice,” she whispers, kissing his cheeks next.

Maya eases into him so well. She practically melts on top of him, sighing into his mouth as his hands glide up the length of her back until he reaches her shoulder blades.

Shawn smiles as she drops quick kisses to his lips. He tries to catch her with a kiss of his own, but she moves to his nose, then his cheek. 

He smirks into the soft angle of her jaw, his nose brushing against her cheek as he nods. 

“This is really nice, Lu,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the soft skin just beneath her ear. He trails to her jaw, where he idles, humming at presses kiss after gentle kiss to her skin.

His lips trail off after hers do. They make her smile and shiver a little. She hugs him closer, lifting her fingers through his hair like she used to when he couldn’t fall asleep. She closes her eyes and lets herself wonder if it’ll be like this for them for a while. Or forever.

Maya hears her throat clear. She doesn’t study whether or not asking him this while they’re in this position might be a bit tactless. She just wants to feel like she can always ask him anything.

She pulls up, disconnecting, rather reluctantly, his lips from her smooth jaw. She swallows and cups his cheek, brushing her thumb along the underside of his beautifully defined cheekbone.

He’s distracted with the sweet taste of her skin when she pulls away from him. He blinks his eyes open, smiling slightly as she strokes his cheek.

“I have to ask,” she says, voice wavering, “With Leah… when you married her, did you think it was going to be forever?”

Shawn’s brows raise. That’s not anything he was expecting her to ask. 

He’s not sure how to answer. 

“Ah—“ he wets his lips, looking down between them. He takes a breath in, looks back up at her. “I wanted it to be. I told myself I would make it last. But, uh, I don’t—“ he smiles, closes his eyes and shakes his head, “I don’t think I ever really felt it in my gut.” 

Maya nods thoughtfully and looks down at her fingers brushing against the freckles on his neck. 

“I guess I was hoping you’d say that,” she confesses, “Not because… I mean, obviously I want you to be happy, but if you were happy with her you wouldn’t be here, so…”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She’s getting tangled up. She blinks a few times and starts again. 

“I just mean that everyone always says you just... know. And I’ve never understood it. I don’t think you can understand unless you feel it. If you say you didn’t truly feel like it was forever, I think maybe that gives me some weird hope that the knowing thing, it’s real.”

She hopes it’s ok she’s blabbering about this. She feels like it’s a touchy subject to bring up, not just because of Leah, but because they’re supposed to be taking it slow. 

Shawn can’t control the adoring smile that splits his lips as Maya babbles. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard her ramble like this, like she’s nervous to be honest with him. Even when she told him she’d been lying about New York, she was clear and concise. 

He doesn’t mind when she gets flustered. He likes thinking that maybe he makes her as nervous as she makes him. 

The way he smiles at her assures her she wasn’t out of line, she wasn’t even really ruining the mood. He smiles like he knows something she doesn’t. It’s not infuriating the way that it was at work when the guys on her team thought they were smarter than she was. He smiles like he’s been there and he wants to help her through it.

Carefully, Shawn slides his hand from her shoulder blade to the back of her head, fingers curling in her hair. He nudges her nose with his, dropping a soft kiss to her lips as her babbling dies down. 

“The knowing thing is definitely real. I promise.” 

Maya’s breath hitches. As he pulls back to speak, her lips follow his. She bites down on her lower lip to keep herself from muffling his words in her mouth.

He’s not sure he’s allowed to say, Because I know with you, yet. They’re trying to go slow not only physically, but emotionally too. He can’t help his gut, though. She’s always had a hold on his heart in a way no one else has ever managed. He couldn’t change it even if he wanted to. 

(He knows. He tried. It ended in divorce.) 

Her stomach completely flips. On some level, she knew. She knows he loves her. He’s always been the one that was sure. Even now, after everything, he still knows. It makes her want to squeal and throw herself into him and never let him leave, not that he wants to.

As she looks down at him, she feels safe. That much is certain. She doesn’t feel a rush to get to where he is now. She’ll know when she knows. She believes him.

Shawn’s answer seems to placate Maya, who bites her lip and looks down at him like she couldn’t be happier with what he’s said. He tucks a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing gently over the shell.

She dips her head and kisses him again, settling back into his body as the storm starts to pass. The rain is getting lighter, the thunder quieter. Soon it’ll just be silent around them.

Then, she kisses him. It’s firm, but sweet, and feels like she’s trying to tell him she’s gonna love him back one day, just as much as he loves her. He hums into her mouth, his fingertips still toying lightly with her ear and massaging her scalp. 

He lets her kiss him for a few seconds and she thinks maybe he’s going to let her stay there lavishing him with kisses as long as her heart desires. Needless to say, they’d end up being there a while.

His gentleness is so comforting she feels like she could fall asleep just lying here, kissing him. She doesn’t want to.

He pulls away after a moment, not because he wants to, but because now he’s got a question for her, and he’s not sure he’ll find a better time to bring it up. 

He kisses her cheek, then the angle of her jaw. 

“Can I ask you something now?” he murmurs, nosing her temple softly.

He shifts back and it’s probably for the best because her eyelids are fluttering and she’s so lost in him she almost can’t find her way back.

She nods at his prompt, tracing her fingertips along the contours of his throat.

Her fingers find his neck, and Shawn’s eyes fall shut. He lets himself revel in it for a moment, in the way she touches him so lovingly. His heart hammers, stomach twisting, and now he’s all the more nervous to ask his question. 

He takes his time asking and she can’t pretend it doesn’t make her more anxious. It’s good, she has to remind herself, the openness feels hard right now but it’s just because you’re not good at it yet.

He wets his lips, finally blinking to look at her again. 

Shawn smiles, brings his palm to her cheek. 

He swallows, takes a breath. “Is it okay that I know because of you?” 

He figures she already knows. But there’s a difference between an unspoken truth and a spoken one. He wants to be sure she knows what he means. He feels like he’s been transparent with the way he feels about her, too much so in the months before now. But he wants her to know it wasn’t all just nostalgia and longing for a comfort he once knew. 

Maya stares down at him in wonder. He’s saying what he thinks she’s saying. He’s not dancing around it, he’s not being coy, he’s telling her he loves her and he’s going to forever. Her breath comes short in her chest. She closes her eyes and exhales through her nose nice and slow.

“God, yes. That’s… more than ok. That’s amazing.”

Amazing. 

Amazing is his new favorite word. It’s amazing, she thinks, that he’s in love with her. She thinks the way he feels about her is amazing. 

He thinks she’s amazing. 

She kisses him again, just quickly, because she’s not done yammering.

“Because if you know that means I’ll know, too. When… it’s time.”

Now she is being somewhat coy, but she knows he knows what she means.

He smiles into her kiss, too busy thinking about the way she purred when she said amazing. 

As always, however, Maya manages to grab his attention. He lifts his brows, taking a slow, calming breath through his nose. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. 

“You-- ah-- You mean because of me, right? I mean, I guess that’s what you probably mean but I just wanna--, you know, for the, uh, the sake of clarity, eh?” 

Maya’s nose twitches as she tries to tamp down a ridiculous smile. She feels a little more empowered now to skip right past coy. She pecks his lips again, pulling up to press her forehead to his.

“For the sake of clarity,” she begins teasingly, “I mean that if you really know that this is it for you, that you want me forever, then I trust your judgment. And I believe I can get to a place where I know, completely certainly, that this is it for me.”

It’s the best she can do for now. It’s honest. It’s not overreaching or underselling. It’s exactly how she feels. And it feels good to be that candid. 

Shawn swallows, arms dropping to her waist when she gets close, murmuring low. 

She gives him the closest thing to I love you he can think of. Closer than he ever thought he’d get so soon after— well, after screwing up and fighting and rebooting the entire thing. 

But it’s not a total reboot, because there’s history between them. They’re just not so afraid of it, anymore. 

He smiles, then catches her lips in a gentle kiss, because she’s there, and one day she’s gonna be in love with him again. 

Small victories, right?

“Just, take your time, okay? We have so much time. I’m really— I’m looking forward to it. To the journey, or whatever,” his voice rasps and he rolls his eyes at himself at the end, but he means it. 

He thinks, maybe, he’s ready for the real kind of relationship he never was before. 

Maya tips her forehead back against his when he rolls his eyes. She closes hers and strokes the pad of her thumb down his throat.

She doesn’t think she’ll need much time. Falling in love with him again seems a foregone conclusion. She appreciates more than she can say that he’s being so patient with her. It’s one thing to hold off on having sex for a while but to give her the space to come to her own conclusions about their relationship, it takes a lot of strength, maturity and confidence.

So how could she not be in love with him?

The truth is, it’s not about him, the reason she can’t fall into this with him now. Maya has been a shell for 12 years, by choice. She feels like she’s still learning to live again and not just exist. Letting Shawn in all at once will fill the holes in her that she hasn’t spackled yet, but she won’t be whole. She has to spend time with herself, learn to be and love herself again before she can love him the way he deserves to be loved.

After a few pleasantly, comfortably silent moments, Maya tilts her head and drops her lips onto his once more. She sweeps falling hair up behind her ear and leans into it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs sincerely into his mouth.

He kisses the thanks from her lips, humming softly as he cups the back of her head and strokes his fingers lovingly through her hair. He pulls back after a minute, when he feels his stomach growl to remind him of the ice cream cake in the freezer. 

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers finding her chin so he can tilt her head back, “You know how you can really thank me, Lemon?”

He smiles, then sinks his teeth into his lower lip to feign coy innocence as he tilts his head at her, as if his request is something she’ll need convincing to do. 

Maya’s heart reaches up into her throat. She squirms on top of him slightly. His fingers feel almost too hot on her skin. Watching him bite into his lip has her almost panting on top of him.

“What…. Uhm, how?” she stutters.

A slow, cheshire cat grin splits Shawn’s lips. He reaches for the disobedient strand of hair that keeps falling in Maya’s face, tucks it behind her ear while his thumb grazes her jaw. 

“You can help me eat the ice cream cake in the freezer that’s calling my name.” 

He raises his brows, eyes crinkling at the corners as if to ‘Gotchya!’ 

Maya’s face goes a little red and she rolls her eyes, burying her bashful face into his neck while she laughs.

“You’re such an idiot,” she groans, kissing along his throat while she hauls herself up on her hands over him. Reluctantly, she peels off the warmth of his body and helps him off the couch, keeping their fingers tangled on the way to the freezer. She swings his arms around her waist and hobbles them both over.

They sit at her bar with pieces of cake. They talk about nothing and everything. They don’t go back to the couch. She walks him out a couple hours later when they’re both nearly half asleep. She kisses him goodnight. He calls her ‘sugar.’ She’s so happy.

----------

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sins of the earth

lucifer morningstar x reader | i

warnings; mentions of murder, death?, drinking, lots of drinking, weird past stuff, nothing too bad, if you’re able to watch the show without any triggers then you should be good

word count; 1735

prompt; your entire life you believed in the paranormal, you grew up christian but something pulled inside of you to believe there was more and for so long you wanted to find it. but when life hits you hard and you lose faith, you come to the conclusion that reality is as everyone said it was, boring and most things are a lie. and you believe this new ‘truth’ until a man claiming hes the devil comes into your life and threatens to make you relearn everything you thought you knew. again.

a/n; this is gonna be a series since i started watching lucifer and im not even into the second season and i already want tom ellis to impregnate me (if he happens to ever read that; i am sorry) anyways i literally shit this out on the first night of 2019. i just had a sentence in mind and then i ran with that and made a prompt out of it. that was my inspiration. a real life problem plus a sentence i thought i might say one day made this fic. anyways, i hope this is pretty good. it will get better. honestly im lowkey proud of this one tho. unedited but i think this has been some of my best writing. to those who have requested stuff i haven’t made: im sorry im depressed. 

Your fist slammed onto the bar harder than you were expecting, or wanting, it to. You mumbled your request for whatever number of drink this was for the night and immediately began to rub the soreness of your ulnar border away while the bartender went to work in making your drink.

      The club was pounding with noise and shaking with bodies and it was humorous to think it matched the pounding of your head. You knew you should stop. But it was your birthday and you were spending it alone, miles from home, and freshly heartbroken. You didn’t care you had a headache and the drinking would make it worse. In fact, you came to this nightclub in hopes that you would drink so much it would make it better.

     Drink until you couldn’t feel anything at all. You already made arrangements for a cab to pick you up at one a.m and instructed a female bartender to remind you, even tipping her generously to go as far as walk you out when it arrived.

     Her name started with an M. Or was it an N? You weren’t entirely sure and you groaned, beginning to stand up as the man behind the bar passed you your drink. In doing so, you felt the rush of your previous drinks all at once. The room was dizzy and you felt light and unstable but also very tired.

     Remembering the time when alcohol made you bubbly and carefree and happy made you horribly sad now. In actuality you were sad. Your entire life had been working towards a half assed dream you thought would make you happy. When you got the job of that half assed dream you packed your things and left everything you’d once known behind, including family. They don’t visit because they don’t have the money too. And thinking of family, you didn’t even pick a career you would have been fantastic in because you wanted a family yourself. You let children ruin your life before you even had any. Children or a life. The person you thought you’d marry turned out to be a complete asshole and you’d had enough. Dreams and spirit crushed, you, at this moment accepted your fate. Die alone. Be bitter.

     But that wasn’t it. There was a war going on inside you that told you to give up but another didn’t. A side that told you you weren’t strong enough but another that reminded you of how strong your mother was. A side that told you your past self would frown and cry at the sight of you now, but the other; that your past self would tell you it’s okay to get up and make the best of things.

     The thoughts that rushed your mind spilled onto your cheeks and you gulped down the drink you just ordered, hearing your grandmother’s voice in the back of your mind. “Remember to sip. Don’t gulp.” She would tell you when she was teaching you to ‘properly drink’. You scoffed out loud, giving the bartender enough money to last the night. He passed you the bottle. “Yeah well you’re not here, are you, grandma?” You muttered to yourself before taking a long swig.

     “I feel like if she would be, she’d have a heart attack in this bloody place.” A suave voice cut through the music and chatter. Surprised, you coughed, spilling a bit on your shirt. “Jesus Christ.” You managed to get out. “Quite the opposite actually,” You turned to find a man who embodied the phrase ‘tall, dark, and handsome’. His raven eyes raked you and your body shamelessly. “Lucifer Morningstar.”

     You openly rolled your eyes. It was a gut reaction but since you couldn’t feel your nose if you tried to itch it at this point in the night, you couldn't quite control your reactions at the moment. “You couldn’t have chosen a better name than that?” You asked, your face plastered with a look of disdain and disgust. Lucifer looked taken aback but nonetheless, didn’t drop the haughty facade.

      “I didn’t choose the name.” He stated, you laughed a little. “Oh yeah? Then who did? Nameberry dot com?” You took another swig of the bottle. “My father actually, though I would like to meet this Nameberry person.” He smiled and you peered up at him through narrowed eyes. You gave him a once over. A twice over. Then finally, “It’s a website, but no, really, who are you?” You asked. “I’m the devil. Lucifer Morningstar. If you don’t believe me I have ways of proving it.” You rolled your eyes at this.

     “Not my religion.”

“You’re not a believer?” He inquired. Understanding he meant the Christian kind, you shook your head. “Not anymore.”

     “So you don’t believe in hell?” He asked and it earned him an odd look. Such odd questions from a weirdly unique stranger.

     “If I did, that would juxtapose what I just said, wouldn’t it? I used to. Now I don’t really care where I go.” You were growing bored of this man. It was clear that he had an ego the size of Russia and based on the look of him that was because he hadn’t ever had a girl say ‘no’ to him before. This ‘Lucifer Morningstar’ was in for a rude awakening.

     Meanwhile, he was growing more and more interested in you. “Ah, no desire to end up anywhere in the afterlife? I’m sure you have some desires here, don’t you?” He asked, voice getting smoother, tone dropped just enough to ring some red alarms in your head. This time, you were able to hid the grin.

     You put on a dazed look, nonchalantly setting your bottle aside as you stepped closer to Lucifer. You ran a hand over his chest and watched as his damning smile grew in amusement. “Actually, my strongest desire. . .” You trailed off and gave him a once over once more. Lucifer could barely contain his excitement. “Is for you to stop asking me these weird fucking questions and leave me alone.” Your voice transitioned from sultry to bored so smoothly you thought your tongue was made of silk. Lucifer didn’t even realize what had happened until the fake smile dropped from your lips and you stepped away.

     “Wait, what?”

“You heard me, Lucifer Morningstar.” You mocked his name, turning from him fully and you began to walk away, grabbing your bottle on the way out. The conversation with him was both sobering and a great way to intensify your headache.

      Lucifer felt frozen where he stood as he watched you walk away. You had been playing him. His, well, charm didn’t work on you. It was all jarring and exciting and concerning and exhilarating for him. Finally, he snapped out of his daze as you mocked his name.

    “Wait!” He called after you, reaching for your arm and turning you around. You yanked free of his touch. “Don’t touch me, creep.” You spat back at him. That flicker of annoyance. If he were mortal, he realized, that would have hurt. This confused him more.

     “I’m not a creep, i’m the devil!” He exclaimed back at you. “Would you quit with that?” You nearly were yelling now. “You’re human! Just like that guy and just like me. If you’re so convinced you’re not, you need to see a shrink. There is no such thing as fairy tales.” You shoved a business card you had been digging around for into his chest.

    Lucifer scoffed as he felt the small weight of your hands against your chest again, if only for a moment. “But I’m not-“ He started but you glared at him.

     “I did not come here for this. It’s one in the morning, my taxi is here.” You noticed the girl you tipped earlier already on her way to come get you from across the room. “You wore off my drunk. I’ll be chugging this in the rest of the car, wishing I had went to a different bar for my birthday. Oh, and I won’t be coming back. Not if you’re here.” You huffed out right as the girl who’s name you forgot approached you and she began to lead you out as promised.

     You shocked yourself just then. You had promised yourself to be more honest and that was the first time you really had. You had spent most of your life, even adult life, thinking demons and fairies and ghosts and ghouls and goblins were real. But you got the help you needed and now you didn’t so when that guy began to talk about being Lucifer and Satan and the devil, it scared you. But you meant what you said. That guy was insane and if he went to that club, you weren’t coming back. You supposed some of his questions were casual, but something about him felt, off.

    Your birthday. Whoever you were. Lucifer was still clutching the business card in his hands, still hovering above where his heart would be as he watched you leave. You were different. You didn’t believe him. You didn’t care to. You thought he was clinically insane, like a murderer who thought he was God, or well, the devil. You didn’t say it but he saw it in your eyes. Not that you were afraid of him, but you knew he was different and you couldn’t tell what.

   But that’s the thing, if he thought about it, is that you knew what he was. And you weren’t afraid but instead your automatic response was to get him help. Not that you knew what he really was, but a part of you recognized it even without your conscious knowing. Your consciousness just didn’t want to know.

    It felt like hours before he pulled his hands from his chest and gazed down at the numbers on the paper. Tonight was a night, well morning, was a morning of firsts apparently, because for the first time, Lucifer called later that day and made an appointment with the shrink you recommended. You promised you wouldn’t come back to that club, but he wasn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

     He chuckled to himself at his plan. Yes, it did sound as though was was a murderer. Insane and obsessive. But he was in fact the devil, and there are no consequences for the sins of the Earth.

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[nikxation]

Their End

Summary: An alternate ending for @whatwouldteslado in which Ford still goes into the portal, Stan takes on much more than he can handle, and the people sending asks maybe don’t realize one very important fact until it’s too late..

Don’t even think for a second that you’re getting a happy ending. I’m not that nice.

Warnings: A healthy dose of panic, a pinch of semi-torture, and sprinkle of some not-quite-gonna-live implications.

(Link to AO3)

“im done arguing”

“im getitng my brother back”

Stan slams the device down on the desk, ignoring the couple of papers that slip off the edge of the table with the impact and land on the dirt floor underfoot. The portal, already apparently in the later stages of the charging process if the intensity of the rotating symbols is anything to go by, hums from the next room over, filling in the white noise between the beeps and clicks in the control room. The ground shudders underfoot almost imperceptibly, as if waiting to toss him back in the air again with another gravity any-who what’s-it-called (he can’t remember what they called it). But now he’s ready for it, a long rope securing him to the bolted desk.

Based on Ford’s notes, the portal should be ready any minute now.

Ford…

It’s hard to believe it’s been three whole weeks since he lost him, since he pushed him, since he…

Somehow, it simultaneously feels like it was just yesterday and over thirty years ago, lingering in his mind and burning in the same way that the cold concrete felt under his trembling hands ten years ago.

No man should ever have to live through hearing his brother scream for help like that…

He’d spent almost two weeks trying and failing to get the portal back up and running, feeling beyond out of his element when faced with the other-worldly triangular behemoth the next room other. He spent two weeks knowing that what he was doing was essentially hopeless, only having the benefit of the first of his brother’s journals, the one that he should’ve just taken and left with like Ford wanted.

It was beyond-a-doubt the worst two weeks of his life.

And that was saying something.

But then he’d found Ford’s weird little device, partially hidden under mounds of paper on the dining room table, probably from when Ford had been moving stuff around before showing him downstairs.

A little dot in the corner of the screen had been blinking.

He wasn’t sure what to think of the thing, but once he managed to turn it on, there was suddenly a barrage of messages. Questions and concerns and so many No-Names and so much fear and worry and so many people asking for Ford.

He typed the first thing he could figure to say.

“what the hell is this?”

They were much more supportive than he thought they would be, all things considered. They explained everything, in as much detail as they could, giving him answers to questions he never thought to ask, telling him almost exactly where to find the other two journals, that those barrels on the porch were the fuel he needed, what had happened to his brother.

The majority of them were an alright bunch, barring the fact that he knew for sure they all had some ulterior motive, some secrets they never really divulged.

How did they know so much?

But he’d take any help he can get.

He spent that night reading, pouring over all of Ford’s entries and answers and questions and…

Some of it… Some of it was a little hard to stomach.

He tries not to think about it.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

But he was able to piece together some semblance of a story, even if it reeked of insanity on Ford’s part.

He’s not sure what would be worse to believe: Ford losing his mind, or demons really existing.

The people (No-Names, he began calling the users that hid behind anonymity) gave him the information he needed, and what should have taken him decades to complete only wound up taking him a week.

And now it’s ready.

He’s finally ready to open it, to fix his mistake (finally… finally he fixes something for once).

And then they… they tried to tell him not to?

It doesn’t make any sense to him, why half of them all of a sudden decided to jump ship and begged him to stop.

It doesn’t make any sense.

Why would they tell him where the Journals are? What the passwords should be? What to use the chained barrels on the front porch for? What Sixer’s ridiculous codes said?

Why would they help him and then turn on him out of the blue?

He doesn’t see the end game, doesn’t see the over-arching idea. Sure, not everyone flipped on him, a few of the No-Names still sending him help and codes and locations and information. But the device’s mailbox slowly filled with more and more warnings, cryptic messages, outlandish stories, guesses, and nonsense. He knows there’s a group of them working together somehow. He knows it’s the ones trying to ask him to stop because they sometimes turn off the mask, as if he’ll trust a fake name over a lack of one. As if “aniXXXXrose” or “XXXXtato” or any of them actually mean something.

He’s so close.

The light on the phone screen blinks, letting him know that there are new messages to ignore.

He finds he’s a million times more interested in the light coming from the other room.

Just a little—

There’s a flash, a blinding white light, every hair on his body standing on end as the portal shrieks awake, like a beast brought back to life, his whole body going completely weightless for a fraction of a second.

When the spots clear from his eyes, the first thing he realizes is that what used to be bluish light shining from the hole in the triangular structure is now an inky blackness that seems to reach for miles through the ten-foot-tall hole, the darkness itself shifting and unstable deep within.

He rushes into the other room, practically tripping over his own feet to get there faster, stretching as far as the rope will allow him to go through the doorway.

For some reason, he grabs the device as he goes.

The portal is still humming, low and constant, the twin beams of light on either side pulsing and radiating enough heat to make him immediately break out into a sweat. But his attention is completely on the darkness, searching it for a sign, anything, any shred of Ford’s existence in the turmoil.

“The Nightmare Realm” they had called it.

He doesn’t see what all the fuss is abou—

There’s a sound.

He… he can’t immediately place it, not from underneath the thrum of the portal.

But there’s something.

“Ford!” he screams. “Ford! Can you hear me? Sixer!”

He waits a moment, but he doesn’t get an answer.

The sound gets a little louder.

Almost subconsciously, he pulls out the device and types.

“portals open. so much for the “end of the world” yall were worried about”

He doesn’t know why he types it out. Maybe to rub it in their faces.

“Ford! You there, buddy?”

Still nothing.

The black space inside the portal ripples and folds in waves.

He quickly unknots the rope, stepping closer to the portal.

“Ford! Can you hear me?”

They had promised he wasn’t dead, that they weren’t just guessing, but that they knew. It was the hardest and easiest part to believe, that he hadn’t accidentally killed his own brother.

They swore to him that Ford wasn’t dead. Does it even mean anything coming from complete strangers?

But that was also around the time when they all started to turn on him too.

That sound…

It almost sounds like…

Laughter?

“Ford?”

No, not Ford. Much too high-pitched, too nasally. This is someone else. Something else.

They had warned him of something else being over there. Something dangerous.

Maybe this was a bad id—

He shakes the thought, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling as loud as his voice can manage.

“Ford! It’s open! Come on!”

Still nothing.

Just that same, unnerving laugh, slowly getting louder, as if moving towards him from some far away distance, the black bending and folding and flowing around itself inside the triangle’s eye.

It makes something cold run down his spine.

He glances down at the device screen and pulls up the most recent message.

“ZKHQ JUDYLWB IDOOV DQG HDUWK EHFRPHV VNB”

Did the screen just flicker yellow or was that a reflection?

He ignores it and turns back to the portal, the eerie laughter plainly audible now, filling the room as it continues its crescendo. He calls for Ford again, his words getting caught up and lost in the whirlwind of noise around him, the dark abyss inside the portal’s door roiling, frothing, like a pot of boiling water seconds from overflowing.

He… he doesn’t get it.

He was supposed to be here.

This was supposed to work.

He was supposed to get him back.

Where’s Ford?

They said he already left weeks ago—

No! He didn’t do all this for nothing!

He turns back to the device.

“any idea why this thing is laughing at me?”

He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, trying to make it all seem less unnerving that it actually is.

Trying to make it seem like he’s not panicking more and more with each passing second.

It’s still getting louder…

Getting closer…

The darkness overflows, drips down the side of the portal…

The response is almost instant, the device flashing a million messages per second.

“SHUT IT DOWN NOW!”

“—before it’s too late!”

“He’s coming you need to kill the power—”

“Why didn’t you listen to us Ford’s already—”

“—he’s long gone Stan you need to close it before—"

“…you just caused the apocalypse”

“We’ll meet again. Don’t know where—”

“Stan he’s GONE you need to shut it—"

“If Bill makes it through that’s it—”

“Please for the love of god SHUT IT DOWN.”

“—a completely different DIMENSION by now—"

“—find another way this is just going to get you and the whole town killed.”

“Please Stan.”

“Please—”

“FORD’S NOT THERE WE TRIED TO TELL YOU—”

“—will destroy everything and everyone—”

“CLOSE IT!”

The laughter is louder, echoing around the room from the circle of oozing and bubbling tar inside the portal.

Ford’s not there.

There’s nothing there.

There’s just…

Nothing.

They’re right, and suddenly he knows it with startling clarity.

They warned me and I ignored them.

He hates that he let himself get carried away in this fantasy for so long.

He hates that he believed there was actually a chance that he could fix—

He hates what he has to do.

Hates it.

“how do i shut it down”

The answer takes less than a second, and he’s dashing over to the opposite side of the room.

Three keys, of course.

He, by some miracle, manages to turn them all, using his teeth on the middle one even though it hurts his jaw.

The top of the lever in front of the portal pops open, the red button inside blinking harshly at him. He’s there in a moment, but something in him keeps his hands weighted to his sides, like someone tied lead around them. Something heavy and painful coils inside his stomach at the sight of that button, at the notion that he’s about to ruin Ford’s only chance of coming back home.

That Ford will be gone and it’ll be all his fault.

He’s long gone, Stan. They said so. He’s not there—

But why do you believe them?

The laughter fills the room now, bouncing around the walls in a dreadful cacophony of sound that assaults his ears and drowns out everything else. It’s everywhere, seeming too impossibly loud, the noise pressing inside his head and threatening to tear apart his skull.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that anything that sounds like that can’t be good news.

He hates himself for what he has to do.

He glances back at the portal one last time in vain, putting his back to it once the last drop of hope drains away, the black seeming to take some kind of shape, reaching out towards him—

“I’m sorry Sixer,” he says to the shutdown button, to himself. He closes his eyes. Never could keep you eyes open when you pulled the trigger, huh Pines? “I’ll find another way.”

And he raises his hand over his head and brings it down hard—

But then the laughter stops, the room going deathly silent.

His hand freezes a hair’s width above the button, the red flashing against his skin.

He pauses, listening.

All he hears is the whirring of the portal and his own panicked breathing, his head buzzing from the sudden relative silence.

When did his heart start pounding so fast?

He turns back to the portal.

It’s perfectly normal.

Well, normal in the relative sense.

Whatever he had been seeing, the blackness dripping down the sides, whatever that had been, it’s gone now, no trace of it even existing in the first place on the pristine metal surface. The inside of the portal is still dark, but now it’s… still. Blacker than the darkest night, yes, but there’s no movement, no roiling deep within like he swears he saw moments ago.

He breathes, taking a step back away from the shutdown button, facing the portal full on again.

Whatever it was, it’s gone.

Was there even something there in the first place?

He breathes, trying to bring his pounding heart back to a normal rhythm.

“Got yourself a little worked up there, huh?” he says to himself, snorting. His heart is still thrumming too fast. “Must be something in the water. Makes your head a little crazy. That’s it. Let’s give Ford another minute.”

He knows he sounds crazy, talking to himself. But there’s something about actually saying it out-loud, something more convincing and substantial to it. Maybe whatever made Ford so skittish is starting to get to him too. Maybe it’s something simple like something in the water.

Maybe the laughing and the tar-like boiling inside the portal and the fear were all just in his head.

His sleep-deprived head that’s been filled to the brim with the No-Faces’ crazy stories and ideas.

He takes another step back from the caution line, looking deep into the dark circle, alert but still searching, still hoping.

Give Ford another minute.

He pulls the device out again, fingers faintly shaking as he types.

“false alarm. notihng there. think it’ll be alrihgt if i give it another mi”

BANG!

He jumps, the device falling from his hands as his feet stumble backwards over uneven ground and he loses his footing completely, falling backwards.

He looks up at the portal.

There’s…

There’s a hand.

Huge, almost half the size of the hole itself, materializing out of the black and grabbing onto the edge of the circle, darkness dripping off it like hot tar, hitting the ground and smoking. The metal structure of the portal bends and groans under its fingers, the darkness burning into the metal structure. Another hand stretches out, long tendrils of black clinging to it as it reaches out and takes shape, crashing its grip onto the other side of the circle, black pooling around its fingers and dripping down the gleaming metal structure.

Stan scrambles backwards, his feet not cooperating as he drags himself back away from that thing, unable to look away out of some fascinating sense of dawning horror as it pulls itself through, the ink oozing off in thick globs of pitch and splashing puddles the size of his entire body onto the floor, the thing (triangular in shape, somehow impossibly bigger than the portal itself, getting bigger) finally pulling itself free.

What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?

He watches, frozen with his back pressed flat against the back wall, his chest heaving in and out breaths that he tries to silence but that thing is just floating there and it’s huge and I should have listened to them all when I had the chance I should have hit the button I should have I should have and what did I do—

A bright white eye opens in the middle of the thing’s body, and Stan swears his breathing stops altogether when it instantly fixes its gaze on him, the black covering it bleeding away and revealing sickly yellow underneath—

“WHY IF IT ISN’T GOOD OLE RELIABLE STANLEY PINES!”

The voice, high-pitched and nasally and loud rings through the air, through his head, somehow louder than anything he’s ever heard even though the sound came from nowhere.

They warned him.

The No-Faces warned him, but he didn’t believe them.

A dream demon from another world that has one eye and a triangular body and a top hat and bow tie.

As ridiculous as it sounds, it’s right here.

The thing that’s responsible for this machine.

The thing that’s been terrorizing his brother.

“You’re Bill?” he manages to say, mustering whatever ounce of bravado he has left and pressing his hands flat to the ground to stop them from trembling. The puddle beneath the demon grows, the black seeming to writhe and contort within itself.

“THE ONE AND ONLY!”

The smoke smells like burning flesh, rot and death slowly filling the air and making him feel sick to his stomach.

The demon tips his hat. A goddamn top hat of all things.

“Thought you’d be a lot bigger.”

He braces himself against the wall, pushes himself to his feet, his eyes never once leaving the gigantic being just a few yards in front of him. As he stands, he vaguely realizes he feels lighter somehow, like gravity isn’t entirely working.

Might even be able to jump and get enough height to knock this bastard right in the eye, knock him back into the—

“AND HERE I WAS HOPING YOU’D BE THE ONE STAN PINES OUT THERE WITH SOME SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION. YET HERE YOU ARE! STILL FIGHTING YOUR BROTHER’S LOSING BATTLES FOR HIM.” Something appears out of thin air next to Bill. A giant cane, one that he twirls around in his hand, the action generating enough wind to blow at Stan’s hair, before he dramatically plants the end of it into the ground with a loud thunk and casually leans against it. Stan almost thinks he must have stumbled into the Twilight Zone or something, the fear just barely out-weighing the confusion. “THOUGH I MUST SAY, I GUESS I OWE YOU ONE, PINES. OPENING THE DOOR FOR ME. ENDING YOUR OWN WORLD. I COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU! I’M FEELING GENEROUS. HOW ABOUT I DO YOU A FAVOR IN RETURN? WHAT’LL IT BE? MONEY, POWER, YOUR OWN GALAXY? YOU NAME IT.”

“I don’t want your favors. I just want my brother back,” Stan says, digging for any bit of confidence he can get his hands on, not wanting this bastard to see how shaken his is. “So why don’t you take your little favor, shove it where the sun don’t shine, and just go back to whatever Hell you came from.”

“OUCH,” Bill deadpans, rolling his lone eye. “YOU KNOW, FOR A LOSER LIVING ON THE STREETS, YOU’RE QUICK TO DISMISS A POSSIBLE ALLY, STANLEY PINES. YOU WANT FORDSY BACK? WELL, HE HOPPED DIMENSIONS WEEKS AGO. HE’S LONG GONE BY NOW. YOU’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO FIND HIM. NOT ON YOUR OWN.”

“And what? You wanna help me?”

“SURE! I WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO, TOUGH GUY. GOT SOME UNFINISHED BUSINESS, STUFF BETWEEN OLD PALS, YOU KNOW HOW IT GOES. I COULD HELP YOU FIND HIM. I’VE GOT GUYS IN EVERY CORNER OF THE MULTIVERSE. YOU JUST POP THROUGH THE PORTAL, I’LL HAVE SOME OF MY GUYS HELP YOU OUT—"

“I’ll stop you right there,” Stan says, and he’s surprised when Bill actually stops talking, the eye squinting in annoyance at having been cut off. Stan takes it as a challenge, plants himself wide, trying to make himself as imposing as he can in front of a literal demon that’s at least 10 times his size. “I can smell a scam from a mile off, and you reek pal.”

His hands are still shaking.

“I don’t want your deals or your favors. I just want you gone. So, you’re gonna get the fuck off my planet and never come back. That’s my deal. And you can either leave the easy way,” Stan reaches into his pocket, fingers sliding comfortably into cool brass, “or my way. Take your pick.”

There’s a pregnant pause, Stan poised and ready for the retaliation, for the anger, for a fight.

But Bill just… laughs.

It’s not even the same as before; no sinister undertones, nothing like before when he could have been playing the maniacal villain in a superhero comic. The demon is just… laughing, the sound jammed into Stan’s head, the triangle wheeling backwards, the cane still stuck standing in the ground as Bill kicks his feet like a little child as he floats and rotates back, the last bits of dark sludge finally dripping off.

“OH NO I’M PRACTICALLY SHAKING IN MY NON-EXISTENT BOOTS!” Bill snorts, and Stan finds himself clenching his fists at that, his teeth grinding together hard. Bill finally rights himself, wiping what looks like a tear from his eye. “WHAT’RE YA GONNA DO, TOUGH GUY? PUNCH ME? BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING. ONE OF YOU STANS TRIED IT ONCE.” Bill flashes forward, in his face for a split second, burning red and something angry. “DIDN’T T̶̢̤̯̳͚̲̞́͆͊͂̍͜͝A̶̧̛̯͇̗̠̘͖̝͈͆̐̇́̕͠͝K̴̢̲̙͙̈̌̂̚͘͢͜ͅE̵̢̮͙̭̮͕̺͈̿̈̐͌͑͂.”

But then the vision is gone, Bill once again just leaning back on his cane, still snorting out the last of his hysterics as if nothing even happened even though Stan knows it happened because now he’s stumbled backwards, his back almost against the wall.

The bastard’s toying with him.

Stan wills himself to stand his ground, lock his knees so they don’t wobble and look Bill in the eye and tell himself he stands a chance.

He thinks he’s already won. He’s cocky, and he thinks he’s already won. That’s what I have to take advantage of. That’s my shot.

All the words of the No-Faces rise to his mind unbidden, claiming unlimited power and no chance of survival or winning should Bill get through.

Stan knows something about long odds.

They’re the only reason he’s alive at this rate.

A knife just missing any vital organs.

A prison break right before Rico’s gang planned to off him.

A throw-away bet that cashes in big and lets him eat something not out of a dumpster for the first time in weeks.

Call it fate, luck, skill, personality, whatever it is; it’s saved his ass more than once.

He prays to whatever god is out there that it’ll save him this time too.

This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

“Well maybe I’m not the first to try it,” he says, his voice steadier than it has any right to be. “But I bet none of them were as good of a shot as me!” He jumps, throwing himself upwards with every ounce of strength he has and letting the lack of gravity carry him to eye-level with the triangle, his momentum carrying him forward as he whips the knuckledusters out, brass gleaming under the fluorescent lights overhead.

It’s all a split-second, really.

A split-second during which he thinks maybe he got the drop on him, maybe he stands a—

It’s like he hits a wall, the way his entire body jolts to a hard stop mid-air with his fist just inches away from Bill’s eye, hovering frozen as if something reached up and grabbed him even though he knows nothing did.

The eye squints in amusement, something akin to a tsk tsk filling his ears, his head.

He… he can’t move.

Bill looks about as amused as a triangle with one eye possibly could, and Stan can’t move. The only plan he had, his only way out, it didn’t work.

He’s… stuck.

Stall for time. Figure out another plan. You’ve gotten out of worse. Haven’t you?

He realizes the full extent of how vulnerable he is right now. How there’s nothing he can do, no matter how hard he strains, no matter how he tries.

He’s completely at Bill’s mercy.

Everyone is.

Think think think.

I didn’t mean for this to happen.

There has to be another way out.

I screwed everything up again.

Ford, I’m sorry.

“YOU STANS, ALL THE SAME. ALWAYS PUNCHING. NEVER TRYING ANYTHING ORIGINAL FOR ONCE IN YOUR STUPID LITTLE LIVES.”

Keep him talking. Stall for… something. Anything.

“Well why don’t you square up then? Even the odds a little.” Bill’s right in his face, his eye squinting slightly.

“OR I COULD JUST END YOUR INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE LIFE NICE AND QUICKLY AND PAINFULLY, JUST FOR GOOD MEASURE SINCE SIXER DECIDED TO SKIP TOWN, AND THEN GO DO WHAT I ACTUALLY CAME HERE FOR.”

“And what’s that? What do you even want?”

“THEY DIDN’T TELL YOU?” he raises his hand, something rising from the dirt off behind him and floating towards them, gleaming in the light of the portal.

The device.

Under the glare of the light, Stan realizes its screen is cracked.

Two lone cracks that begin joined at the middle of the top of the screen and then split as they make their way down, each ending in a bottom corner.

“ACTUALLY, I BET THEY TOLD YOU. YOU JUST DIDN’T LISTEN TO THEM, DID YOU SMART GUY? WELL, TOO LATE NOW.” His fist closes fast and hard, something inside Stan twisting painfully as the device crumbles simultaneously with it, a loud crack followed by the crunch of grinding metal as the entire thing smashes into itself with one last dying spark of electricity. “YOU SHOULD’VE TAKE MY OFFER WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE. BUT, EH, NO SKIN OFF MY BONES. HA! BONES! I’VE GOT SOME OF THOSE NOW, I THINK.”

Gravity suddenly grabs him again, Stan plummeting back down to the ground, the hit knocking the wind out of him, his arm landing in a puddle of the thick black tar. It immediately burns through his jacket and scorches his skin like a hot iron, ripping a scream out of him as he scrambles to swat it off, the stuff sticking to his arm and burning and he can’t get it off why won’t it come o—

“YOU SEE, LITTLE FISH, HERE’S WHERE YOU’RE WRONG. I DON’T WANT SOMETHING.”

“I WANT Ẽ̴͇͖̹̞̔͋̈́͜͡V̧̰̪͙̬̭̈̉͌̅̽͡É̢̨̞̟̺͗̆͂̍͆̕͟͠R̸̨͈̱̬̫̼͌͆̈́̍̏̚͡Y̟̤̪̣̺͗̒͌̓͞͠Ţ̬̙͚̥̣̘͍͗̐̍̓̓̅͜H̘̞̞͔̯̲͊̃̇̏̾̚ͅͅI̶͙̱͈͍̺̔̉͋́͆̚Ṇ͈̱͔̰̥̼̄̓̌̊̈̇̏̚̚G̞̳͖̙̥̹̖͂̂͗̊́͂̍͞.”

He’s still trying to tear the stuff off his arm, clawing at it, tears burning rivulets of pain down his cheeks. A shadow slowly looms over top of him, blocking out the last of the light emanating from the portal, but he’s too consumed by the excruciating pain to notice, the black substance clinging to his arm, now almost starting to spread outwards, reaching down to his wrist and up to his elbow, the mass growing and shifting and burning no matter how he screams.

I can’t—

“WELCOME TO WEIRDMAGEDDON, STANLEY PINES.”

He looks up just to meet the demon’s eye, everything blurry and unfocussed and dark but he can see the eye, bright white and slitted and piercing right into his skull—

Ǐ̛̝̰͍̹̣̼̦͍̊̉͒̇̃̇͟ͅT̹̪̻͍͙͖͖̻̓̑̏̐̎̆̀͛̓͜’̷̢̰͈̗͍̥̩́̆͐̐͛͟͝͡S̩̘͕̯̻͇͓̙̮̀̈̐̄͋ T̴̘̝̹̪͖̟͈̽̄͑̓̐̾͘͝O̳̼̼̘̳̹̎̍̀̑͋O̷̞̗̘̙͔̖͊̄͗̒̋̆́͜͢ B̗̖̟͔̤̻̭̓́̐̀̉͆̏͢͠A̙͚̯̱̩̓͋̽̍͌͡ͅḌ̸͎̮̤̺̙̬͋̌̀́̌̊͗͋̀̕ Y̸̛̺̫͓̗̳̐̔͋̔͟ͅȮ̷̧̯̬̖̮̇̅͡͠͡Ŭ̧̘̞̲͊̌̍͑̾̚͠͠ͅ W̸͓̹̳͔̗̭͙̐͆̊̎͘Ơ̤̼̳͕̫̈́̍̀̓̚͘͝͠Ņ̶͕̣̣̦̱̌͗͐̑̒’̶̧̨̯̪̪͙̦̙̿̓̈͆̂́͆̕Ṫ̴͍̹͎̲͉̭̝͎͆̌̒͆́͊̍̐͟͡ B̹̯̺̳̖̮̫̜̆̄̇̏̓̐͋Ë̞̤͙̬̬̽͗̀̆͂̒͝ A̶̼̫̭̘̞̠̯̖̖̺̓̃̌́͆̎͋̑͡͡R̸̢̛͇̠͕̼͖͎͌̓͂͒̾͊̒̏͗͢͟O̸̡̬͙͕̯̹͉̮̓͊̈̓̕͟ͅǓ̴̯̟̰̪͛̅̇̏̓̈̿͗͆͟N̵̲̭̙̝͓̮̑̆̎̂͢͠D̡͔̘͚̣̼̮̤̼́͛͛̒̇́̕͡͞ L̸̤̲͈̺̥̲̞͂̐́́͊̉̿́͘ͅƠ̸̜͓͉̙̖̞̪̂̑͋̏͠N̡̝̣͇̘̫͍̞̗̎̊̆̓͒̐̌̈̕͢͡G̮̠͎̲̣͊̑̃́̏̑̉͢͞ Ę̰͕̰̞̍̾͋̂̾̐N̪͇͈͇͎̳̽̃̐̈̏͂͗́̾́Ò̵̧̮͖̥̲́̆̊̓̆͛̌̾U̧͍̖͕̲̯͆͑̊̋͑͊͌̚͝͞G̨͕͖̤̼̥̙̔͋̃̐̉̐͢͡͠H̘̻̜̪͔͓̟͓̋̊̇̾̓̚͟͝͠ T̷͈͍̗̰̪̳̫̏́̂͆́͆́̕͞Ǫ̨̮̦̱̼̯͗͌̇͌̅͟ S̶̡̨̯͙̯̺̤̞̑̎̌̆͗̏E͓͙̣͇͕̗̻̎̍̀̈́̓͂̓̽͂̆͟͜E̷͎̝͍̦͔̻͎̫̿̇̏̽̄͜͝ͅ I̢̘͉̼̞͌̅͊̓̽̎̌̔͘Ț̶̡̨̧̠̣̻͚̆̂͊͞͡ͅ

“false alarm. notihng there. think it’ll be alrihgt if i give it another mi”

And then a few minutes later.

“Ford, I’m sorry.”

The chaos that ensues in the dimension where the Askers and Watchers reside is quick and confused, people rushing for answers, for solutions, for any piece of information they can get their hands on.

They were right, and they know it.

They hope not, but deep down, they know.

It’s a madhouse.

So lost are they in their scramble that no one is even watching the webpage.

Only a select few see the blog when it happens.

They each tell a different story.

One says the words “YOU LOSE” were posted before immediately being deleted.

Another says that all text on the screen flickered, going from Latin to code to some alien symbolic language and hundreds of others in a matter of seconds.

One or two claim that an imagine of Bill himself flashed on-screen, clear as day.

Whether they’re all telling the truth about it, no one really knows for sure. But they all share a common thread.

They all say that, for a moment, the blog flashed a too-bright yellow, a short burst of color that was almost blinding, much too bright for their screens to have produced.

And then the image cut to static, something loud and horrible blaring through their speakers for a long too long second—

Before the page went completely blank.

The page, the blog, the archive, whatever they each decided to call it.

It was gone.

Completely and utterly gone.

Leaving nothing but an error screen in its wake.

Every post and ask had disappeared.

Every screenshot somehow got corrupted.

All the fan art and pictures were erased or scribbled over.

Even the server archives and note documents were undecipherable or altogether deleted.

It was all gone.

In the end, one thing alone survived.

A constant reminder of the end that they created, that they couldn’t stop.

A lesson on why you should never play with fate and hope to win.

A requiem to the world that they ended.

A broken url.

All that was left was a broken url.

That and, for those that were unfortunate enough to hear it, a distant, echoing laugh that blared through their speakers before it all died.

That was all.

That was their end.

#pinesbrosfallswrites #wwtd #stanley pines #stan pines #Bill cipher #fanficiton #gravity falls fanficiton #my writing #once again this was longer than intended #(also it's my first time writing bill and *I need to work on him some more yikes*) #i've been editing tf outta this for a few days but i'm over it so #*throws this*

[garglyswoof]

does Frank have a pile of newspapers next to his bed (more like a mattress on the floor), with articles written by Karen?

a quick snippet because you are horrible luce and im supposed to be writing other ship things hoW DARE YOU

He doesn’t really think about it at first, just sets down his dog-eared copy of Les Miserables, places marked where if he were a more scholarly man he’d inscribe notes in the margins. Hugo really had a way of distilling humanity.

No, he doesn’t really think about it. He tells himself he’s tearing the story out to make it easier to read, stretched out on the mattress with one pillow punched into submission behind his head. Dull light streaks in from a streetlamp that flickers on and off in that mysterious way of all streetlamps, irregular, without reason. The paper is rough beneath his finger tips, the ink smudging.

Karen Page, the byline reads, and his mouth twitches with something close to a grin if he’d only let it. But it’s post-midnight and he’s still awake, chasing off the only dreams his memories will let him have.  They come less often, and a part of him hates it, hates that it means he’s forgetting, hates how purpose fades with the passage of time.

He swipes at her name with his thumb, an odd gesture he can’t even begin to assign purpose to, and reads. She’s gotten better, become more comfortable with her voice and not pulling punches in her writing. Telling the story like it is. He can hear her saying the words printed across the page, her inflections, her emphasis, her passion.

At least she’s not baiting someone in this article. His eyes flick away at the thought, landing on a police scanner that lies dormant beneath a coating of dust. He’d promised Curtis, and he’s trying to stick to keeping a low profile, but it relies on one Karen Page not being a reckless daredevil in her reporting.

And with her fire, with her goddamn spirit, he thinks, he’s not sure how long that’s gonna last.

The weeks go by and the pile of clippings grows. He fools himself by sticking them like bookmarks into novels that remain unread. The corner bodega would know him by name if he didn’t always buy his paper in a different place every week. It passes the time, he thinks, as he tries to build this new life for himself outside the shadow of vengeance, of unending grief. So it’s another night, another set of pushups, another moment with his arm curled behind his head as his eyes track across the page. It’s something different for her, a byline in the Lifestyle section: Flowers and the Modern New Yorker, it reads, and his brows furrow as he resigns himself to read on.

Almost everyone’s heard of the old adage - red roses for love, yellow for friendship, but in the latest of New York’s sometimes inexplicable trends, it’s not just the rose that’s being used to convey thoughts and feelings. Flowers are flying off the shelf for their meanings, causing the florists of New York to quickly bone up on the subject that dates back to the Victorian Era.

Jan Hooks, owner of Late Bloomers in Chelsea Market, says that…

Frank can’t help but think of the flowers he’d given her what seems like forever ago. What were they? What meaning had he unintentionally given? Hell, what meaning would he give now? Pfft…it’s bullshit, but there’s something in him that eats up the article all the same.

Maybe it’s because he’s unsettled, off-kilter, not remotely surefooted. He thinks of his hazy memories, dulled by pain and blood loss, of her reaching for him across an elevator that had seemed a chasm. He remembers the look in her eyes, part plea, part wish, part confusion.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get her feelings, though he’s not blind to them. How did she…why…what did she see in him? It had been so long since he had thought of anything but killing those responsible, carrying out his mission, commanding officer: himself.

The light outside flickers off, the sound of a car horn filtering up through his open window, and he sits up, back against the plaster wall.

Because he knows that’s a lie. You can’t live in a vaccuum, not entirely. She’d seeped in through his cracks. He folds the article in his hand, in a rough semblance of the paper it was taken from, swats his palm once, twice, as he thinks.

Maria.

He figures it out then. That she is the thought in his mind when he considers Karen is the most telling thing of all. His gut twists with guilt. He taps the paper a few more times, the sound hollow against his hand.

Karen.

God what is this what is this fucking insanity how could he even consider?

He’s out of the bed and out on the street before he can think about it.

It’s 2 am in the city that never sleeps but it’s apparently missed the memo, the streets almost hushed as his boots hit the pavement, steam rising from the earlier summer shower. He pulls a baseball cap low over his eyes that flick to the corner, spotting the traffic cameras, then flick back to the road ahead, the sidewalk, the alleyway. Habit, from when it meant life or death, and frankly it still does.

He passes the Papaya Dog, the jewelry store that’s a front to some kind of money laundering if he were to bet on it, the nail salon on the corner. The traffic picks up and he hunches his shoulders, because smaller is less memorable, and he’s too big a guy to not have to fake it. A few blocks of this and he’s there, her apartment at the end of the block, wreathed in shadow from a broken set of streetlamps - what was it with the lights in this town?

The suddenness of thought hits him, what he managed to escape on the way here. He has no idea what he’s doing here. What is he, gonna knock on her door at 2 am? Break through that shitty lock he keeps meaning to badger the super into replacing on the front entrance? Goddamn, he’s never felt more impulsive and stupid in his life. He’s poised to turn, on the balls of his feet, grace belying his frame, when he sees it.

Flowers, in her window. He wishes he’s studied the article harder, wishes he could make out the blooms, realizes he doesn’t need to. Because he knows, in the same way he knows why he’s here, why he’s come. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, pulls out his phone. Sends a text. And waits.

yeah sorry im a jerk but it had to end somewhere. Blame luce. Blame her by sending kastle prompt ideas to @lclrgsl

#kastle #kastle fic #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #kastlelibrary #kastleff

[zoromance]

bulletproof (ch. 10)

Bulletproof: a BTS ‘Grand Theft Auto’ AU based on this post

Genre: drama, humor, angst, romance

Word count: 4241

Warnings: mature content, graphic violence, non-graphic sexual content, strong language, drug/alcohol usage

Summary: Min Yoongi owns this city, and he doesn't take kindly to death threats on his loved ones. Min Yoongi can, and will, make you hurt.

Chapter: Prologue / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

A/N: dude,,,, im so sorry about this insane wait

Read on AO3 // Read on Tumblr

Two weeks later

“So Jimin’s been helping you out with hand-to-hand combat, huh? The guy’s always had a knack for it,” Hoseok spoke, leaning back and taking a swig of his beer. He spared a glance around the sitting room, eyes lingering over the priceless vases and ornate furniture. The feeling of being a bull in a china shop never really went away in this house. It didn’t matter how many times Hoseok came over to Jimin’s place, the sheer size of the mansion never failed to astound him.

Jungkook paused, cheeks flushing, before averting his gaze. The reaction confused Hoseok slightly – it had been a simple enough question, nothing to get flustered over.

“Yeah, he’s a good teacher,” Jungkook mumbled. “Says I’m getting pretty good at it, especially for a beginner.”

Chuckling, Hoseok slapped a hand on Jungkook’s back. He wasn’t surprised – everything the kid touched turned to gold. Makes sense Jungkook would be a naturally good fighter.

“I’m glad,” Hoseok replied, touches of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Cause pretty soon you’re gonna have bastards coming at you from every direction. Better to establish yourself as a qualified fighter before some son of a bitch gets the drop on you.”

Jungkook nodded and tapped rhythmically on the lip of the beer bottle in his hand. His behavior was still throwing Hoseok off; something seemed to be out of place, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

This was the first time in days that Hoseok had gotten to spend time alone with Jungkook. Earlier Jimin had run off to the grocery store, claiming he needed agave nectar or some healthy shit like that, and Hobi decided it was an opportune time to kick back and have a couple beers with Jungkook, just chat with the kid, try to give him a sense of normalcy again. God knows he probably needed it after the stress of the last couple of weeks.

“How did Jimin get so good at fighting, anyway?” Jungkook ventured after a few moments of silence.

Hoseok let out a breathy snicker, leaning back on the couch. “Excellent question,” he spoke. “Thing you have to understand is that there’s more than one reason Jimin is so commonly known in this city. Not just for being a party boy socialite, there’s more to it.”

Jungkook cocked his head, almost like a puppy, inquiring further.

“Jimin used to do street fighting. Quite a lot of it. No gloves, no rules, no supervision – underground brawls, sometimes to the death. It was completely illegal and all very hush-hush. Absolutely brutal stuff; he’d come back and we would have to patch him up and wash the blood out of his clothes. He wanted the money for drugs, mainly. But he also got high off the rush,” Hoseok explained.

“It was dangerous, but Jimin was insanely fucking good. People’d underestimate him cause he’s tiny, but the kid sent guys to the hospital on a regular basis. The whole thing got way out of hand, and we finally convinced him to drop the habit before he ended up brain-dead.”

Finally Hoseok spared a glance over to Jungkook. The guy looked absolutely stunned, eyes wide and jaw slack.

“You’re telling me that Jimin… was in the Fight Club?” Jungkook stuttered, taken aback.

The statement, combined with the completely flabbergasted look on Jungkook’s face, caused Hoseok to let out a bubbling laugh. “Pretty much, that’s the gist of it,” Hoseok responded between giggles.

Then Hoseok froze.

Years of living in this city would instill a person with a kind of sixth sense. It wasn’t fictional, it wasn’t exaggerated, it was undeniably real. Hoseok has developed an uncanny ability to predict when shit’s about to do down.

And in that split second, something was horribly off.

All of his hair stood on end, his stomach went ice-cold, his fingers gripped tightly around the forgotten beer bottle in his hand.

“Jungkook…” Hoseok whispered tightly, not daring to move a muscle.

“Hobi?” replied Jungkook, hesitantly, as if he could immediately sense that the atmosphere had changed completely. The boy’s eyes were blown wide, staring at Hoseok with a startling air of concern and confusion.

Hoseok didn’t respond, merely shifted his gaze to the nearest window. Not a muscle in his body moved, and he could hear blood dully thudding in his own ears.

Something was so wrong –

“Get down!” Hoseok shouted, grabbing Jungkook’s shirt faster than lighting and dropping to the ground. A splitting crack sounded in the distance and suddenly there was glass everywhere, raining down in shards on the pair, splitting tiny gashes into Hoseok’s face and arms. Head pounding from the sudden cacophony, Hoseok struggled to blink his eyes open. Jungkook was lying on the floor next to him, stunned but unharmed, completely still from the shock.

Hoseok wasted no time in grabbing the boy’s sleeve, hauling him to his feet.

“Come on, get up! Run!”

The pair stumbled to their feet as more cracks sounded through the air. Hoseok felt the bullets whiz alarmingly close to his head, one shaving off a strand of his hair. He gripping the front of Jungkook’s jacket like it was a lifeline and blindly stumbled to the entrance of the room, unable to even think straight enough to watch where he was going.

“Hobi—” Jungkook started to shout, before his voice morphed into a yelp of shock. Hoseok whipped around to find a bullet graze oozing fresh blood from Jungkook’s cheek.

Shit, shit—

“Come on!”

They stumbled into the hallway, taking off at a full sprint as shattering glass and whirring bullets filled the air directly behind them. Panic and adrenaline flooded Hoseok’s entire body as he raced to the only safe room he could think of – that bomb shelter in the basement that Jimin’s mother was paranoid enough to demand be built.

Rounding the corner to the game room, Hoseok pulled Jungkook close and put his finger over his lips. The boy was clearly panicking, his whole body shaking from the shock of what had just happened.

Hoseok reached one hand down to pull his glock from its holster on his thigh. He quickly checked the cartridge for ammo (a full round, thank god) and switched off the safety.

“Jungkook, take this,” Hoseok whispered as he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a smaller revolver. He placed the cold, steel gun into Jungkook’s shaking hands and looked the kid in the eyes. “Don’t fucking shoot unless we get separated, do you hear me?”

Nodding shakily, Jungkook slowly took the revolver from Hoseok’s hands. “Hobi, how…”

“I don’t fucking know how they found us, but we need to get to the basement. Jimin’s got a bomb shelter down there. We can stay there until—”

Hoseok immediately stopped as he saw a flicker of movement over Jungkook’s shoulder. With reflexes faster than he even knew he had, Hoseok whipped his glock up and fired directly into the approaching man’s skull. The bang sliced through the air and Hoseok flinched from the recoil.

The man dropped to the ground, remnants of his brain dripping from the wall behind him.

“They’re in the fucking house. Follow me, don’t make a sound, and be alert,” Hoseok whispered into Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook snapped out of whatever trace of shock he had been stuck in, and crouched behind Hoseok, shaking hands clutching his pistol. From the corner of his eye, Hoseok saw the boy swallow harshly, eyes blown wide. Poor thing was freaked as hell. Hoseok followed Jungkook’s gaze to the end of the hall, where he saw bits of gore and blood littered in every direction, coating the walls in a macabre kind of Pollock painting.

“Now, Kookie,” Hoseok breathed out, careful to keep his voice and his crouch low.

As quietly as he could, Hoseok crept down the hall. Alarm was rolling off Jungkook in waves, and it was almost distracting. Rounding a corner, Hoseok peered into a nearby room to see figures moving inside.

Hoseok swore under his breath and jerked to a halt. Footfalls were distantly approaching behind them, and the room they were headed towards was occupied by at least three armed thugs, from what Hoseok could see. There wasn’t any option, they would have to shoot their way through that room—

Hoseok’s train of thought was broken by a sudden cry of alarm inside of the room.

It was nearly impossible to get a good look at whatever the hell was going on in that room. Hoseok heard gunshots, yelling, crashing… then silence. Jungkook was frozen at his side, too still to even risk breathing. A faint voice came from inside.

“Xiumin, did you get the guys around back?”

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Relief washed over Hoseok and he slumped down, letting out a long sigh. Clearly confused and still terrified, Jungkook silently looked to Hoseok with apprehension on his face. Hoseok simply smiled and softly wiped the blood from where Jungkook’s cheek had been grazed.

“It’s Jung Hoseok, I’ve got Jungkook with me. We’re coming in, don’t shoot,” Hoseok calmly stated, cracking open the door to find Xiumin and Kai surrounded by dead bodies.

Hoseok grinned. He wasn’t sure who had hired them, maybe Taehyung or Namjoon, but Hoseok was in no position to be complaining.

The Exorcists had come.

Hopefully Namjoon’s shop wasn’t locked up.

Jimin quietly drove through the city, probably about halfway to the auto shop by now. As much as he adored Jungkook, he figured the kid could use a break from his presence for a couple of hours. He’d already made a run to the grocery store with some dumb excuse about needing healthy shit (which he kind of did, to be completely honest) before leaving Hoseok to look after the younger.

There was something about Hoseok’s presence that could just make a person feel at ease. Considering all of the stress that Jungkook had been through in the last few weeks, Jimin figured that it was a good idea to leave the two of them alone for a while.

The car radio was silent. Jimin’s phone had died earlier, in the middle of looking up nutritional information for some fancy granola brand. Honestly, he usually hated whatever was playing on the radio – he’d prefer to drive in silence than to listen to a bunch of commercials for things he didn’t care about.

People always underestimated how much Jimin loved complete silence. It was an extremely rare treat in his life, flitting around from party to party and always hanging out with the guys. Dance studios. Raves. Government events. It was all characterized by an excess of noise.

He’d been feeling much better in the last week or so. Hadn’t even touched any drugs, besides some weed that he hit with Jungkook and Namjoon a couple of days ago. The effects of cocaine detox had absolutely clawed at him for the first week and a half or so, but Tae was always there by his side. Encouraging him, telling how he needed to be strong and healthy for the sake of the others.

Jimin was still sometimes caught off guard by how considerate and intelligent Taehyung could be.

Finally, he turned the last corner onto Namjoon’s street. The shop appeared to be open, a couple of stray cars parked out front. The lights inside weren’t on, but that didn’t mean much – Namjoon often would close the front of the shop and just meet with customers in the back garage. It wasn’t exactly typical protocol for an auto shop, but then again, Namjoon’s shop wasn’t exactly targeted towards typical customers.

Jimin pulled into the parking lot smoothly and killed the ignition. There was a slightly odd feeling in the air, but he shrugged it off as his typical post-withdrawal paranoia. Harder drugs have a way of fucking with your sense of security, and coming off of them multiplies that feeling infinitely. Still feeling wary, Jimin unbuckled and stepped out of the car.

It was then that he noticed the store was oddly still. There wasn’t a soul inside, no noises coming from the garage, not even a stray bird or a passerby on the street.

Maybe this wasn’t just paranoia.

Calmly, Jimin slammed the car door shut and began to stroll towards the front door. He was on high alert, eyes scanning the parking lot, checking the reflection behind him in the glass windows of the shop. Still, not any sight of another person.

He took a shaky breath as he approached the front door. Every muscle in his body was tensed as he raised a hand to the glass and pulled.

Jimin yelped and jumped at the sudden sound of the welcome bell. Fuck – the thing had scared him half to fucking death, Jesus Christ—

Chuckling at himself, Jimin pushed down his anxiety and entered the shop. Nothing looked out of place, at least; maybe Namjoon had just run out to do some errands. Still, that didn’t explain the cars out front…

Before Jimin could even finish that thought, he felt an impossibly strong arm snake around his neck from behind.

He cried out in shock and pain as the arm tightened itself around his throat. Instincts kicking in, Jimin stamped on his attacker’s foot as hard as he possibly could and dug his nails into the muscular skin of the man’s bicep.

Shit—

Jimin gasped for breath and lurched forward as the attacker cried. He grabbed the nearest weapon he could find – a tire iron – and whipped around to face the man.

Shit. Two men. Two men.

What the fuck.

As hard as possible, Jimin swung the tire iron at the taller man on the right. It let out a satisfying whump as it impacted the man’s chest, probably at least cracking a rib.

“Fucking bitch!” the man howled as his friend made a move to tackle Jimin. Jimin was panicking by this point, so much so that he accidentally dropped the iron in an attempt to dodge. The man caught his ankle and dragged him down to the floor – god, shit, where was Namjoon? Where the fuck was Namjoon?

Jimin yelped as his head hit the hard tile floor, sending stars across his field of vision. The pain in his head was throbbing as the man began to try to pin him down. Jimin twisted around just in time to land a right hook straight into the guy’s jaw. Another punch, and kick to the groin – and Jimin was frantically crawling out from underneath the attacker.

Guy Two had recovered from the blow to his chest, and was coming straight for Jimin.

“Namjoon!” Jimin screamed as loud as he physically could, backing up desperately and trying to find some other kind of weapon.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you for that, kid,” the man growled as he stepped over his friend.

Jimin felt a pang of fear in his stomach. It was easy enough to handle one guy, but he wasn’t used to fighting two at a time. He had absolutely no idea what to do. Lunging for the man, Jimin dodged an incoming punch and landed a swift jab to the area of the man’s broken rib. The guy howled, doubling over so that Jimin could grab him by the hair. With all of his strength, Jimin lifted the guy’s head and smashed it down against his knee.

Blood splattered all over his pants and on the floor as the attacker’s nose completely shattered. He let out a guttural howl and stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

Without warning, the other man shot up and clenched his fists around Jimin’s throat. Jimin could feel the life being squeezed out of him as he was shoved to the ground. The man climbed on top of Jimin, straddling him, pinning him down, hands clenching tighter.

Oh God, Jimin was gonna die. He was gonna die.

“You alright, Kyle?” The man on top of him asked.

“Fuck, the bitch broke my nose,” Kyle growled in response, slowly rising from the floor. “Oh, looks like Yeon finally fucking showed up.”

A third man entered Jimin’s blurry field of vision, towering over him in a dark mass.

“You sure this is the right kid?” the new man – Yeon – asked with trepidation.

“Yeah, it’s him alright.” The man on top of him answered. There was a thick pause, and Jimin clawed at the hands against his neck hysterically. He was gasping for any kind of air, his vision beginning to tunnel in.

“Fuck…. He’s pretty.”

Jimin’s blood ran cold and his heart dropped into his stomach.

“Don’t go there, Mike. You know the boss doesn’t want him as damaged cargo.”

“The boss doesn’t have to know,” Mike replied in a low voice, fingers tightening around Jimin’s throat. “Shit, just look at him, Yeon.”

Jimin tried to scream, tried to fight back, anything. The oxygen was leaving his brain at a terrifying rate. Utter silence filled the room.

“…Fine. Fuck him if you want.”

Jimin’s eyes shot open and he let out a pathetic squeak. He’d never been so fucking terrified in his life. He felt one hand release itself from his throat, and he hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled – fuck, fuck, shit,

With the last of the energy that he had, Jimin shot his hands up to Mike’s face, sinking his thumbs into the guy’s eye sockets.

The sound that came out of the man’s mouth was entirely unhuman.

It almost made Jimin vomit, the feeling of how squishy and bloody the eye sockets were. He felt one of the eyeballs pop out, hanging from Mike’s face, oh god, don’t throw up, don’t throw up.

Mike was screeching, falling to the floor, a strangled gargling noise coming from where the blood was beginning to pool in his mouth. Jimin faintly heard the other two men yelling in a panic, but everything was so blurry, he had lost so much oxygen to his brain.

Before he could even form another thought, Jimin felt a cloth being violent pressed over his mouth and noise. An overwhelming chemical stench permeated his nose, and everything was black.

Yoongi should have expected that this would happen sooner or later. Things had been far too quiet over the last couple of weeks. Bosang had been way too quiet.

Five dead bodies were scattered around the warehouse, each in their own little uniform pool of blood. Three of them were his dealers, two of them were his informants. He was supposed to have been meeting them here to discuss the last shipment from Tijuana. And now they were all fucking dead.

“Little overkill, don’t you think?” Yoongi deadpanned, his flat voice echoing through the warehouse. He faintly heard light footsteps to his left, and his eyes flickered towards the noise.

“That’s an interesting accusation, coming from you,” Bosang replied dully, stepping out from a shadow in the corner.

Well, Yoongi couldn’t really disagree with him on that one.

Chuckling darkly, Yoongi stated, “I take it that means you got the package I left you.”

Bosang continued ambling towards Yoongi, expensive dress shoes clicking lightly on the concrete floor. “You’d be correct.” He came to a stop in front of Yoongi, face stiff, suit cleanly pressed – everything about him screaming professionalism. “Can’t say I really enjoyed it, but it’s the thought that counts.”

A smirk crossed Yoongi’s features.

“Severed tongues? That’s old school, Yoongi. How did you do it? Did you track down every single one of my Crimson Dragons, one by one, and watch them scream while you sliced the tongues from their mouths?”

Yes, that’s actually exactly how Yoongi did it.

“A bit harsh, don’t you think?” Bosang asked, playful mocking lining his tone.

“Why are you here?” Yoongi interrupted, cutting to the chase without any more dumbass theatrics from Bosang.

The man didn’t respond, simply leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. After a moment, he responded quietly, “Why do you think I’m here, Yoongi?”

“To admire my perky ass.”

“You’re funny.”

Every single pore in Yoongi’s body was seething with hatred, just wanting this man to get the hell out of his face. “You got your damn drugs, Bosang. I told you to leave Jungkook out of this. Don’t make me start slicing off dicks instead of tongues.”

“You of all people should know that I don’t quit once I find someone that I want. You have no idea how much that kid would get me on the black market. Hell, even just renting him out to some locals. You’d be surprised how high the corruption goes, Min,” Bosang said flatly, leaning back away from Yoongi’s face.

Yoongi snarled, barely holding himself back from reaching his hands up and strangling the life out of the man.

“I’ll cut you a deal, Yoongi. I take the boy, and I pinky promise not to hurt any of your other buddies.”

“I don’t fucking make deals with serial rapists,” Yoongi hissed.

“Your loss,” Bosang replied. “You might be reconsidering that offer pretty soon.”

He couldn’t fucking take this anymore. Yoongi darted forward, his hands grasping Bosang’s collar and clenching tightly. “You come onto my fucking territory and make threats again my people? Do you know how easily I could end you? How easily I could bring your entire empire down? Three minutes, and I could make everything you know crumble,” he growled into Bosang’s ear. “But do you want to know why I don’t?”

Yoongi paused, heaving breaths.

“Because innocent people would fucking die. So many people would die. This entire fucking city would be in chaos. And I’m not you, Bosang. I don’t get off on other people’s pain. I value human life and I’m not about to let innocents die in the crossfire. But don’t think for one second that I’m afraid to murder you.”

He let go of Bosang’s collar, shoving the man backwards. For the first time in a very long time, Yoongi saw a jolt of shock cross Bosang’s features.

“It would be in your best interests to fuck off,” Yoongi threatened, his body quivering with rage.

He didn’t care anymore. Bosang was skirting along that line again, testing Yoongi, seeing how far he could go before the rope snapped.

The brief look of fear fell from Bosang’s face and left behind a self-satisfied smirk. “I’ll see you around, Yoongi,” he calmly stated, turning on his heel to stroll towards the exit. He was being entirely nonchalant, but Yoongi didn’t miss the unsteadiness in his tone.

Yoongi stood and watched, completely still, as Bosang paced away from him and finally out of his sight. He heard a car driving off in the distance, all screeching tires and thrumming engine. He stared long and hard at the exit of the warehouse, completely lost in thought. His eyes wandered from one bloody body to the next, taking in their features, observing the gunshot wounds in their heads.

With an uncharacteristic gentleness, Yoongi approached the nearest body and kneeled down. The woman’s name had been Boyoung – she was always bright, friendly, despite this hellhole of a city. Of his dealers, Boyoung had been one of the kindest.

With soft hands, Yoongi reached forward and shut her glassy eyes.

He pulled out his phone, called the number of another one of his trusted informants. “Get down to the warehouse on 40th. Bosang left bodies,” Yoongi spoke softly, his tone gentle. “Five of them. Tell the families that the funerals will be paid for.”

He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket and running a weary hand down his face. Shit like this was inevitable in such a dangerous job, in such a dangerous city. But Yoongi still fucking hated it. These had been good people, who died for no other reason than unfortunate timing in an unfortunate place.

Yoongi walked around the room, closing the eyes of the rest of the victims, taking silence stock of who had been lost.

He walked out of the warehouse simultaneously enraged and numb.

It was a long walk back to Yoongi’s apartment. In all honesty, his didn’t even want to go to his own apartment – he wanted to stay at Hoseok’s, Jin’s, he didn’t care. He just didn’t want to be alone right now. In all honesty, Yoongi felt weak for the first time in a long time. Some days, this lifestyle was easier to cope with than others. This was a bad day. This was a really bad day.

As if on cue, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. One look at the caller ID put a slight smile onto his face. It was almost like Hobi telepathically just knew when Yoongi needed him.

He tapped the pickup button and held the phone up to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Yoongi,” Hoseok panted, sounding stressed and tense. Immediately Yoongi’s hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Something had gone wrong.

“Hobi, what happened?”

“They attacked the house.”

Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks, blood running ice-cold.

“Jungkook and I are fine – the Exorcists came, Tae apparently hired them. Everyone is alive, but we’re all really shaken up. I took Jungkook to my apartment,” Hoseok spoke, sounding exhausted.

“Good, stay there,” Yoongi responded, his heart racing. “Where’s Jimin, was he with you guys?”

“No, he was out shopping when they started shooting at us. He’s not answering his phone, Yoongi.”

Yoongi cursed loudly and paced back and forth on the dark street, running a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me that you have no fucking idea where he is?”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Yoongi, his phone might have died. There’s no way they could have known where he was going,” Hoseok said, sounding more like he was trying to comfort himself than anything. “I have to take care of Jungkook, he’s got some minor injuries. Get some people searching for Jimin and tell me immediately if you find anything out.”

“I will,” Yoongi replied tiredly. This was the last fucking thing he needed right now. His gut curled in fear of what could have happened to Hobi and Jungkook, in fear of what happened to Jimin. “Look after him.”

Yoongi hung up, beginning to walk down he street again and scrolling through his contacts to find Jin’s number. His finger was hovering over the number to dial it, when a sudden jarring noise from the shop to his side caught him off guard. It was the window display of a television store – all of the display TV’s had abruptly turned on, displaying static and playing white noise. Yoongi was about to shake it off when suddenly, the screen changed to a sight hat make his stomach hit the floor.

Glaring down at him from seven different screens was a live video of Park Jimin, limp and bound to a chair, covered head to toe in bruises and blood.

#bts #bangtan #bts fic #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #namjoon #hoseok #yoongi #jin #bulletproof boys #bts au #bts gta #yall this wait was insane i just powered through writing the rest of this chapter